


Vengeance is Ours

by dark40rcehan



Category: game of thrones
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dany has to deal with it, Dorne is always independent, F/M, I hope I can pull this off, Multi, Seven Kingdoms is now Five Kingdoms, king in the north
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-03-31 11:00:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 59
Words: 190,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3975622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dark40rcehan/pseuds/dark40rcehan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where the Lannisters have deprived the Starks of a father, the Martells lost a sister. With common wounds to lick, armed with a common vengeance, it would seem that now is the best time for the Wolves of Winterfell to be allied with the Vipers of Dorne. If this was what it took to see the realm renewed from the hold of the Lannisters, this is the gamble that Robb Stark would take, even if the price was to have his sister Sansa wedded to the Red Viper himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

It was raining. Talisa enjoyed the rain, it made the ground fresh again and left the air smelling fresh and clean. She remembered that in her homeland, Volantis, heavy rainfall made the sea look as if it was dancing. Recollecting on how Fate had played its hand and she was now the Queen of at least half the Westerosi lands, of the North and the Riverlands, she could not help but sigh. Perhaps, Fate would be kinder on her husband and his armies. They seemed to be locked down in a very precarious position now. Robb should not have executed Rickard Karstark, but now that it is done, they would have to make do with their mistakes and forge a new path. 

"Your Grace, there are guests here for King Robb," a messenger boy said from outside her tent. 

Eagerly, Talisa dropped her thoughts and attended to the material world. "His Grace is currently... swamped with matters of state, my friends," she said to the three figures in sand-colored cloaks. She did not recognize the sigils upon them but she made out a red sun pierced by a spear. Another look at her husband's guests and she deemed them to be a male, accompanied by two females, both of which were heavily armed. "He would return soon, I think." 

Once in the portion of the tent used to receive guests, all three of them removed their hoods. From the way they resembled one another, Talisa reckoned that they were a father and his two daughters. They had the same tanned coloring that she had never seen before in Westerosi circles, dark hair and eyes. The father spoke first, and in High Valyrian, "Your Grace, it is an honor to finally meet the Queen in the North. I am Oberyn Martell, Prince of Dorne. These beautiful ladies over here are my daughters, Obara and Nymeria Sand." 

The two young women rolled their eyes at their father's description of them, but said nothing. Talisa tried hard not to chuckle. "And I am Talisa Maegyr of Volantis, although I should now be called Talisa... Stark in your Westerosi customs, should I not?" For whatever reason, these strange guests from Dorne did not bristle her as her husband's bannermen did. If they bore any ill-will then she could not sense it, and she prided herself to be quite the cynic. It was a skill one needed to have in these strange, barbaric lands so far away from home. 

However, before she could even continue, Robb entered the tent with his mother, the Blackfish and Roose Bolton. "Good Gods!" Catelyn Stark exclaimed upon laying eyes on Oberyn. The Stark bannermen immediately drew their swords, much to the confusion of their queen. "Oberyn Martell, what are you doing here?"

Oberyn's daughters drew their weapons as well. Obara seemed to favor the spear and Nymeria, a long whip. However, Oberyn gave them all a sideways smile and gestured to his daughters to drop their weapons. "I come to offer the North and the Riverlands an offer that they cannot refuse," Oberyn explained himself. "It is a very enticing one, I can assure you." 

"What offer is that?" Robb demanded. "What does the Red Viper of Dorne want with the North?"

Oberyn's smile grew wider. "The very same you want, vengeance for the deaths of our families at the hands of the Lannisters," he elaborated. "In exchange, you will help us install a new ruler upon Westeros and see these Seven Kingdoms being split into only Five." 

"You're insane!" Brynden Tully, aptly known as the Blackfish exclaimed. "Whatever you Dornish snakes are planning, it'll never -" 

"Insane, am I?" Oberyn returned, cutting the Blackfish off. "Well, you should make yourselves comfortable, Your Grace, my Lords. I'm going to tell you many insane things that will come if King Robb wants to see peace, starting with Lady Sansa's freedom from King's Landing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! This is Hani here with my first Game of Thrones fanfic! I do hope that you are merciful and enjoy this as it goes. For whatever reason, I decided to see if there was anything for the Oberyn/Sansa pairing, and I saw that Silberias and a few other authors had some brilliant ones. This fic was written because I was utterly inspired by them and I hope that mine can be as effective and entertaining. 
> 
> Let's enjoy the ride, shall we? I do hope that you guys can help me along the way as well! Just comment away and start the conversation.


	2. A Deal They Cannot Refuse

 They had adjourned to a different tent now. Robb had wanted all his bannermen that were still with him to listen to what the Red Viper had to say. He did not trust the Dornishman one bit, as conventional wisdom would have put it. During Robert's Rebellion, Dorne had sided with the Targaryeans, while Dorne had been claiming themselves to be neutral until now. There had to be a catch somehow, and he wanted to find out what it was. Once everyone should be present was there in the tent where they usually held their war councils, he said, "Alright, Prince Oberyn, tell us, what is on Dorne's mind? What grievances do you have with the Lannisters so much that you want them all dead?" 

In all actuality, Robb and his men were not in a position to negotiate. Half of his men had left since Rickard Karstark's beheading and Edmure Tully's blunder at Stone Mill left them without any more advantage. He knew that if his forces marched back to Winterfell, his bannermen would never rise again, for winter was coming, like the warning in the words of his House. The need to eat and survive would seen become more important than vengeance. Trapped between the Westerlands and the Riverlands, the armies of the North and the Riverlands had nowhere else to go but to continue fighting until they could break into King's Landing. In short, they had indeed won many battles, but they were losing the war. 

 "While the Lannisters took your father, King Robb, they took my sister, Elia," Oberyn answered, his free-natured gait slowly disappearing. The sly smirk upon his face was also losing its infectious traction, replaced by one of silent fury and searing anger. "When King's Landing was sacked by the Lannisters after beautiful Rhaegar Targaryen was killed by Robern Baratheon at the Battle of the Trident, Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain, raped my sister and split her in half with his greatsword. The loss of our loved ones is enough to unite us." 

 As he spoke, he knew that there was still doubt in the Northern Lords' minds towards his words. Their brows were furrowed, their lips tightly pursed. The tension was so thick that he was sure that Obara could cut it in half with her spear. Not that it mattered. Oberyn knew that they needed help. Without more men, they cannot go further. If King Robb was to secure the North, he would have to take the fight to King's Landing and utterly obliterate the Lannister armies, and the North and the Riverlands cannot do it alone. 

 "Sixty thousand Lannister soldiers stand between our forces and your Dornish ones, Prince Oberyn," Brynden Tully said. "What makes you think that you have the ability to bring your men north from Dorne? The Ironborn and the Lannisters control the seas while soldiers from Highgarden and the Stormlands will swallow you before you can leave your lands." 

 Oberyn merely chuckled. The Blackfish's concerns were true. If Dorne's soldiers were to ever try to move out from Dorne, the surrounding Tyrells and Baratheon troops would rip them to shreds. "Ten thousand Dornish spears guard our borders with the Dornish Marches, Lord Brynden," he explained. "We have another ten thousand scattered all over the Riverlands and the Westerlands, disguised as merchants selling wine and fruits. You will have the numbers of the men you lost when these are gathered at my call. The other thirty thousand remain in our lands to protect our people in case of any eventuality." 

 "Fifty thousand spears in Dorne..." Roose Bolton was overheard whispering. It was an impressive number. Impressive enough that all of the Northern lords now became wide-eyed in disbelief, even the Young Wolf himself. 

 "What's your price?" Catelyn Stark demanded. She had learned the hard way not to put too much trust in strangers, particularly strangers with bountiful offers, even when she could not trust those closest to her. 

 Oberyn was now smirking from ear to ear. "The first one would be easier to swallow. You will marry your eldest sister, Sansa to me, to bind our countries together," he said, letting it all sink in. Silence ushered in again, and the sound of a dropping pin would prove deafening. He could hear Catelyn gasp while Talisa looked at Robb in askance. No doubt, the young Queen in the North would have heard her husband whisper into her ear that he was a man who had eight bastard daughters, two of which were right before them. He was older than their late father, Eddard, and already had countless lovers in Dorne. He would have already shamed his future betrothed before a marriage-contract was written, just things that outsiders to Dorne would be concerned about. 

 "Do you think me to be Viserys Targaryen, selling my own sister for an army?" Robb asked Oberyn, who immediately raised an eyebrow. In fact, the Young Wolf was so incensed that he rose from his seat, angered by the sheer thought of the parallel between him and the fallen (and exiled) Targaryen Prince  could even exist. 

 "I'll have you know that Princess Daenerys Targaryen had a happy marriage with Khal Drogo when it lasted," Oberyn replied just as quickly, openly displaying his sharp tongue and wit. When he saw that the Northern lords were not tolerating his jape, he raised both hands as a sign of surrender. "Which brings me to Dorne's second condition... you will ally with us, yes, but you will see a Targaryen Queen on the Iron Throne." 

 Those words brought the Northern lords to raise their swords again. "We will not bow to  _anyone_  but our own King Robb!" one of the Stark bannermen shouted loudly. "The North will keeps its own laws and men!" 

 It was not Robb, but Talisa that told the bannermen to hold their tongues and lower their weapons. It was one of those rare moments when their new Queen had ever asserted her authority, so much so that even Robb himself was astounded. Flushing from her outburst, she continued with a little stutter, "I... I'm sure that Prince Oberyn has more to say on the matter." Even Oberyn's daughters seemed to be highly interested in this new Queen, a Volantene noble from the likes of her family name. No doubt, that these boorish Northerners did not know who she was to those in Essos, but by marrying her, Robb Stark could have gained valuable allies in the form of the Volantenes. With enough training and experience, she would be a Queen that the North would be proud of. 

 "Of all the Seven Kingdoms, Dorne and the North has never really been conquered by the Targaryens," Oberyn elaborated, almost too eloquently, his Dornish accent jarring to the ears of the Northerners. "Torrhen Stark bent the knee because he knew that his people are done for if Aegon and his dragons should decimate the North. He knew that the loss of life that would happen should he have fought was not worth the price of pride. We Dornishmen were only brought into the Seven Kingdoms because my ancestor married a Targaryen princess." 

 He did not speak further, letting the information that he had just delivered sink into the minds of the Northerners. Robb seemed to want to open his mouth to speak multiple times, but refrained from doing so. Robb knew what Oberyn was trying to insinuate. He was a young warlord, but not a fool. If Daenerys Targaryen somehow reaches Westeros with her Dothraki army (if it was still intact), it would mean that she would be the Queen of only Five Kingdoms, where the North and Dorne would remain independent. 

 "Would that idea sit well with the Targaryen Princess?" Robb asked Oberyn. "To come to Westeros expecting to have Seven Kingdoms but receiving only Five?"

 Oberyn chuckled. "She doesn't quite have a choice, doesn't she? She needs us just as we need her and her dragons to rid the usurpers of her father's throne from King's Landing," he answered simply. "Forced to the point of desperation, what  _can_  anyone of us do?" Was Dorne desperate? No, Dorne was not. Dorne could wait out this ridiculous war without any hurt or qualm. But what fun was there to be had in waiting? Dorne had been waiting for their chance of vengeance for long enough. The time was soon ripe for them, and they would seize opportunity like the rest of the  _animals_  playing upon the fields of war now. It is time for the lions, dragons, stags and wolves to know that even snakes have their talents and abilities. 

 "What do you want from Sansa if you wed her?" Catelyn demanded. The fact that she was a fierce mother was not unknown in all of Westeros. Word had spread all over that she had captured Tyrion Lannister upon suspicion that he was the one who crippled her second-born son, Bran Stark. Although she had failed to have her sister Lysa Arryn execute the Imp, she was already infamous as a mother who would resort to anything to protect her children. 

 "That, Lady Stark, would be decided between your daughter and I," Oberyn replied. If all his previous words had been false, then this one would be sincere. "In Dorne, we treasure our lovers and love them as they should be loved. But if you are in need of specifics, I need no children from Princess Sansa. I have eight daughters currently, and they're all a lively handful, trust me." Of course, he did not mention the existence of his beloved paramour. The Northerners were even more uptight that those in the other territories outside of Dorne. They hold to archaic customs, even dressing in stuffy clothing so far south of the Neck. He would never give Ellaria up but he would broach the subject with them and with Sansa gently. It would be discussed at a later date. 

 Catelyn Stark held her silence, but gave up when she looked at Obara and Nymeria. His Sand Snakes were famous through the realms. They were fighters, just like him, and by the way they held their presence by his side, she could see that he was a loving father. They were proud and ready to stand by him, in combat if it needed to be. If this was a husband that Sansa would have to suffer, then it would have been a thousand times better than what she was still suffering with in King's Landing in the hands of the Lannisters. If he could be a loving father, then perhaps there was a slim chance that he could be a loving husband as well. 

 "Lady Sansa will be a princess twice over when she marries into House Martell," Nymeria, Oberyn's second-born added. A quiet realization dawned over all of them. What she said was true. With Robb being the King in the North, Sansa was now the Princess of the North. Although she could never use that title in King's Landing, she was a Princess in every sense of the word now. She would be a princess if she returned home to her family. However, status was less important when her survival was at stake with each day she remained in the capital. Once again, Robb was reminded that while he had his mother by his side ever since the start of his campaign, Sansa had suffered alone in the capital, forced to watch as their father was executed, forced to endure the cruelty of the Lannister bastard, King Joffrey who should have been known as Joffrey Waters. 

 The Stark family looked at one another. If it even mattered, Robb was now married to a noblewoman from Volantis and now, Sansa would be betrothed to Dorne. If the North was to be a re-founded sovereign nation, they needed these alliances. Catelyn Stark herself had released Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, in hopes that his return to King's Landing would be traded with Sansa's return to them. They had not received word from Brienne of Tarth regarding that venture, but if it should fail, then... perhaps they should have a failsafe. 

 "How sure are you that the Lannisters would give my sister-in-law up just so you can marry her?" Talisa added to the barrage of questions laid upon Oberyn. Hers was a valid one. Surely enough, even his own daughters almost betrayed their father by turning towards him with raised eyebrows. They did not trust him enough to have thought through the plan in such a detailed manner. The Northerners have proven to be a shrewd bunch, after all. 

 "You will leave that to me," Oberyn said. "I am not without my charms, Your Grace." He said those words with a wink of an eye directed to the Queen, a gesture that did not endear him to Robb. "Besides, the Lannisters promised a seat on the Small Council to Dorne as well as the head of my sister's killer. I am sure to claim both of these by the time I wed Lady... Princess Sansa." 

 Catelyn Stark bit her lip, undecided whether to trust him or not, while Robb Stark was still scowling at the prospect of needing to sell his sister to Dorne for their support. The bannermen looked at their newly-claimed royal family and could only wait. It was a carrot that they had to take. 

 "The only way you can improve your men's morale is to take Casterly Rock, to make the Lannisters lose their ancestral seat as you have yours," Obara continued in her father's stead. "You can do it with our men stationed in these lands. My father only needs to give the word and they will materialize before your eyes..." She was interrupted by her own father. 

 "Obara..." he hushed, clicking his tongue in a way that mocked condescension. "We mustn't push our friends too hard. It is their decision to make, after all." 

 It did not take a fool that they were already psychologically tricking them into agreeing with them. They needed a victory against the Lannisters, and they needed it now, if not sooner. 

 "We shall see your men three days hence," Robb said, finally relenting. "Then we shall decide about your proposal." 

 Oberyn was now smirking from ear to ear. He knew that the Young Wolf's words had double meaning. 

* * *

 When the sun rose on the third day, Robb's scouts came running towards him. They told him that they had ten thousand soldiers in their camp, wearing no colors and bearing no sigils. They wore helms that covered most of their faces and were only lightly armored in leather, and bore tall, shining spears. If armies of the North and the Riverlands had not been told that they were Dornishmen by Oberyn, no one would have suspected a thing. 

 "Does House Martell have a long-term detachment of merchant-soldiers?" Brynden Tully asked Oberyn, bearing similar armor and his own serpentine spear, trying to hide his astonishment as much as he could. 

 "That is for us to know and for you to find out, Lord Brynden," Oberyn grinned. "These men will be marshaled by Obara and Nymeria. They are my eldest daughters and have been trained long and well enough in the art of war." Although they have been inactive for the past decade and a half, no one ever doubted the Dornishmen's propensity to fight. When Obara called them to attention, each of them got into their battle-stances in fluid, uniform motions. There was no clanking and clonking of plate upon plate as they positioned their spears, only swift, lithe movements. 

 Robb was impressed. He hated himself for being so impressed. He prided himself in having troops that were better organized and had more experience than the Lannisters' men had, surely, these Dornish merchant-soldiers were different beasts altogether, and put his pride in his own men to shame. Talisa had to discreetly lead his slacked jaw back to its supposed position with her finger as Obara Sand showed them off by getting them to enter various formations at her command while he found out that his mother was utterly speechless. 

 At the corner of his eye, Oberyn saw something rather peculiar. Roose Bolton, who stood next to his king, had paled slightly. Surely, such a show of Dornish expertise was not enough to bring such a reaction to a Stark bannerman. He would have to have a word with the young King in the North about this interesting observation soon. "So, King Robb, what do you think?" he asked Robb after Obara's little show had ended. "What is your decision?"

 "The moment we attack Casterly Rock, we're in this together," Robb almost growled at Oberyn. "There's no turning back. If we fail, Lannister men will flood through Dorne as they will storm through the Riverlands for all our heads. My sister will lose hers in King's Landing." The Lannisters always paid their debts. A failed attack on the Lannister's ancestral home would mean sudden death for them all. A victorious one, however, could mean renewed hope and by the Old Gods and the New, Robb knew that his men needed hope the most. 

 "I assure you, Your Grace, this is not a fate that I imagined when I set out of my home to seek you out," Oberyn replied. "Together, we will make sure that those fucking Lions pay dearly for what they have done to our families." 

 From then on, Robb knew that he had no choice. If this was the only way to move forward, then he would take it. It would be better than having to go scraping back to the Freys. It would perhaps bring Sansa back to her family. "So be it," Robb said, and grasped Oberyn's hand like a brother before his own men and Oberyn's. "If I go down after this, trust me when I say that I will bring you crashing down after me." 

 Oberyn chuckled, readily accepting Robb's challenge. "Then I will have to find all the stilts in the world to support you."  There were no cheers from both armies. It was to be a silent acknowledgment for a covert agreement. "Tomorrow..." 

 "... we'll dine in the Lion's Den," Robb continued. 

 "I couldn't put it better myself." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I made that whole merchant-unit from Dorne up, so sue me. I did so because there was no way Oberyn and his girls to have brought 10000 men to the Riverlands where Robb currently was without anyone noticing. I hope that you guys liked what I did with Talisa. She looked very promising to me as Robb's Queen, and since she was a noblewoman, she should have some experience in dealing with bickering lords. 
> 
> Oh, I think due to my style and my love for certain cult-status pop culture fandoms, you'll see some references to other fandoms here and there throughout this fanfic, if I am able to. If you can spot them, just tell me! ^_^
> 
> Enjoy!


	3. The Gathering Storm

By the time Tywin Lannister received reports from Casterly Rock that it was being overrun by Northmen and a strange unit of soldiers bearing neither color nor sigil, he had gripped his quill so hard that it cut him. Then, when the next raven came in, bearing news that the Lannister army at Casterly Rock was utterly decimated, he had shown a rare glimpse of rage in the form of hurling said quill into the nearest beam. The third raven was the one that was the last straw. It was a relatively short message, and it was the cumulation of all of Tywin's greatest fears. 

 "You have nothing."

 

 It was strange, how those four simple words could incite so much fear in the man that was known as the "most feared man in all of Westeros". Nothing. The Lannisters had nothing. Casterly Rock was three times higher than the Wall. It had granaries, dungeons, halls, stables, mines, hundreds of hallways, stairwells and gardens. The mine shafts on the Rock were hundreds of feet deep, and the Rock overlooked Lannisport, the harbor of Westerlands and the Sunset Sea. Yet, the Lannisters were said to have nothing. 

 Nevertheless, Tywin Lannister had already got past his rage once he scrunched up that last message into a ball and trampled on it with full force before picking it back up to shred it to pieces. He had already started calculating what he should do next to salvage the situation. A pack of Northern wolves were now in his family's ancestral seat. How Robb Stark could have done it without the Frey's help, he could not understand. If he had the help of sellswords, was the North so wealthy that they could have just bought the 10000 men that they had lost? If that was the case, where  _did_  he find 10000 sellswords in so short a time?

 Question mounted upon question, until his thoughts were disturbed by  _both_  Tyrion and Cersei barging into his chambers in the Tower of the Hand, their voices in nigh unison for the first time in their very lives. 

 "Father, I've heard that the bloody Starks have..." 

 "Overrun the Rock..." 

 "We must  _do something_!" 

 "... can't just stand here..." 

 "Will you two just shut up!" Tywin bellowed. Also, for the first time in his life, two of his most argumentative children fell silent immediately and slinked into the chairs nearest to them. "I know, Robb Stark and his men have taken the Rock. How he did it, I do not know, but if he is allowed to walk away and tell the tale that he did, we will have more problems than we've ever faced before." 

 Tyrion scrunched up his face in disbelief. "Wait... what did the Starks find at the Rock?" he asked. "We've nothing..."

 A deadly silence came across the room, and there was no doubt that Cersei caught the emphasis of the silence. She just didn't believe it. "What do you mean... nothing?" she demanded of her father and brother. "We have manpower... gold, how could there be  _nothing_?"

 Tywin heaved an open, heavy sigh. As clever as his only daughter thought herself to be, she was only clever in her own mind. She never knew how to grasp the power that she had gained for herself, and only knew how to run amok like a headless chicken when true tests of her ability would arise. "Our mines have collapsed three years ago," he admitted to his daughter. "We've not produced a single ounce of gold ever since." Not that Lannister gold was useful in any way, given the current times. Even if they had the gold, the gold was given to the Crown to fund its current wars and tourneys that King Robert so dearly loved, as well as his drinking and whoring. Even if the Crown did not owe the Lannisters gold, there was no way to have earned money from said gold because using this much of the stuff to buy other materials like food, clothing and shelter would only drive the inflation in Westeros higher. It would have been counter-productive. He was less worried about the fact that they no longer produced physical gold, in fact. What he was worried about was that the Starks had unseated his family from their own ancestral seat so suddenly and he could not find a reason why. 

 In fact, he knew that he had to swallow his pride and call for a meeting of the Small Council to remedy the situation. "What do we know about the current situation at the Westerlands and the Riverlands?" Tywin asked the Small Council after he made sure that Cersei would not be there to disrupt matters. "Apart from the armies marching about, what else is happening?"

 Varys shrugged. "My little birds tell me as always that the smallfolk are starving and their lands are burning, my Lord Hand," he said. "Even now, the merchants have nowhere to sell their wares and they are turning home in search of food and shelter." 

 Pycelle nodded. "Chaos... utter chaos," he added. "More flock to King's Landing for protection every day," he said. "With agriculture at almost a complete stop in those regions, and with winter coming, I believe that we have to expect a famine soon."

 Famine, such a word did not sit well with any one on the Small Council at all. Although famine rarely hit the nobles and the rich, it was a great bane to the smallfolk, and every wise politician knew that at the end of the day, the happiness and welfare of the smallfolk was paramount to their survival. The riots in the capital that happened just after Princess Myrcella was sent to Dorne was the testimony to this truth. 

 "What about this year's harvests?" Tywin asked, trying to get a grasp of the situation. "How much food do we have left for those regions?"

 "The numbers are appalling," Tyrion replied. "Thirty thousand bushels of wheat, forty thousand bushes of barley and twenty thousand bushels of oats. There are only three thousand tonnes of fish left and virtually enough livestock to feed half the adults in the current situation. It's not enough to last through the war, much less winter." 

At the end of the day, the ones who would suffer the most from war would be the smallfolk. They were the ones who grew the food, and they were the ones who have had their fields burnt down because of war. When men who were supposed to work the fields are conscripted to become soldiers to fight one another, the product of food is lessened, and thus, their suffering increases. 

 "We can still rely on the Tyrells for our food supply," Pycelle offered. The Tyrell-Lannister alliance not only brought victory to the Battle of Blackwater Bay, but also great amounts of food with them. 

 "When winter comes, what will the Tyrells feed their own people in the Reach with?" Tyrion fired back cynically. "Most likely, they'll take back what is theirs and high-tail back to Highgarden." 

 Varys sided with Tyrion in this argument. "The Tyrells might have agreed to give us certain amounts, but I wouldn't put too much stock in them unless we see the actual stores that they claim to have brought with them." 

 "Agreed..." Tywin said, but before he could continue, the doors before them smashed open, revealing Joffrey, seething in anger as he walked towards the Small Council. "Ah, Your Grace, how nice of you to join us..." 

 It would seem that Joffrey was not willing to suffer any niceties with his own grandfather that morning. "How  _could_  you let that Stark bastard take Casterly Rock?" he burst out, as if the knowledge that the Lannisters had been unseated by the already-unseated Starks was not the subject on everyone's minds. 

 "Your Grace, we are now trying to find a solution to this matter," Tywin said coolly, as he always did with this particular grandson of his. "If you were so kind as to help us find the culprits that tipped the scales to Robb Stark's favor, we would be all ears to listen to what you have to say." 

 Joffrey closed his mouth and gulped. Obviously, he could not find a solution. So, he started guessing. "It must be the Vale!" he said. "They've been wanting revenge for Jon Arryn's death... and... and... they're blaming it on us!" 

 "Your Grace, the lords of the Vale have been neutral since the start of the war," Varys cautioned. "None of them has ever moved a hand in the current conflict and they never will."

 "D... Dorne, then!" Joffrey spat. 

 Tyrion sighed. "Your sister is in Dorne and will soon wed their Prince Trystane," he told his nephew. "Besides, Sunspear is too far away to reach Robb Stark without having alerted those in the Reach and the Stormlands. They'd have to fight through whatever the Tyrells still have and Stannis as well to get to the Rock." 

 There was no way Dorne would have a hand in this. House Martell and House Baratheon were soon to be in-laws. They were promised a seat upon a Small Council upon Myrcella's betrothal to their youngest prince and they had yet to claim it. In any case, Dorne had isolated itself from the affairs of the Seven Kingdoms ever since Jon Arryn managed to stop them from rising up against King Robert following Princess Elia's death at the hands of Ser Gregor Clegane.

 "Your Grace, I suggest you leave this Council if you don't have anything substantial to help us with," Tywin said, dismissing his grandson altogether. "When we reach a solution, we will call for you and report it to you." 

 Visibly angered, Joffrey stormed out of the chamber just as quickly as he had entered. 

 "I will make myself clear," Tywin stressed, "no one will leave these chambers until we have reached the solution for a counterattack on the Stark army." 

* * *

 If there was one thing that Joffrey had learned from his mother, it would be to lash out to those around him whenever he was angered. Now, he had the perfect subject and the perfect trigger. He would not let this opportunity pass at all. He had a cat o' nine tails in his hand, and he knew precisely how to use it. 

 Sansa Stark was brought before him in the throne room, her expression blank as always. "Your Grace," she barely murmured with a deep curtsy, ignoring the smug look on his face. 

 "Do you know why I've summoned you here?" Joffrey asked her. 

 "No, Your Grace," Sansa replied. Even if she did know, she feigned ignorance. She had learned this the hard way that it was her only way to survive. She had cried tears of joy in the safety of her own rooms when she heard of the news that her brother had taken Casterly Rock from under the Lannister's noses. Shae had been the one to tell her the news, and she was so happy that she even hugged her handmaiden. 

 "Kneel!" Joffrey commanded and Sansa dropped to her knees immediately, her movements almost like clockwork. "Since you're so stupid not to catch the news, I'll tell it to you, word by word." Sansa cast her eyes downwards, not wanting to see how falsely triumphant Joffrey had looked, twirling the cat o' nine tails in his hand is if it was a simple plaything. "Your traitor brother has had a brilliant victory," he said, whipping her arm, causing her to jump with a pained cry. "He dared to take Casterly Rock and steal everything there..." 

 Once again, the many ends of the cat o' nine tails came into contact with Sansa. This time, they grazed her neck. It was a sight that not many had the heart to watch, but even less dared to stop. Not when the King was in this state of rage, not when the Starks had such a clear victory. One false move or word would end their lives as they knew it, and they dared not risk a thing. 

 These days, Sansa no longer tried to defend her brother's actions openly. Joffrey would beat and abuse her anyways, even if she did. Instead of staring directly into Joffrey's eyes, she looked into those that belonged to the people around them. Those that stood and watched, those that did nothing to help her, even those that had the audacity to laugh with the King and praise him in his brutal treatment of her. Silently, she imparted all of those faces into memory and vowed that they would all have their just desserts if and when she had the chance. 

 "Your Grace!" a clear, almost musical voice interrupted them. "Your Grace, you must calm yourself!" It was none other than Margery Tyrell. "I believe that you will have the ability to recover from these great losses, but first, you must collect yourself and not lose hope!" Such sweet words from such a sweet lady. Margery held Sansa's blue eyes for the slightest moment and gave her a quick nod before reaching out to take Joffrey's arm in hers. "Your Grace must remember that your vengeance will be quick. Your wrath will be heard with the soldiers you will send in retaliation." 

 Joffrey smirked. "Yes, I will have Grandfather lead the counterattack himself!" he exclaimed, gradually forgetting about Sansa. As Margery pulled him further away from the poor girl, she finally looked back at Sansa and mouthed for her to escape the throne room. Sansa did not need to be told twice and quickly picked herself up and escaped the throne room before Joffrey even noticed that she had left. 

Her arms and neck had stung from being whipped, but she did not mind. Her brother Robb had a great triumph and soon, he would gain enough momentum to advance nearer to King's Landing. Her days of darkness and torture in the capital would be coming to an end, she promised herself. When they ended, then the denizens of King's Landing would have to aware of the fact that the North always remembers. 

 She would have her handmaid Shae tend to her wounds as usual. She would be strong, although there was no one there to see her strength. Every day she survived meant that she was a day closer to having her family by her side. She would work towards that. 

 "Lady Sansa, I'd like to have a word with you." 

 Sansa's thoughts were interrupted by a familiar female voice. It was Margery Tyrell's grandmother, the Queen of Thornes. 

* * *

 When Olenna Redwyne discreetly led Sansa Stark away from the throne room, she noticed two things: the first was that although she sported fresh wounds from Joffrey's recent bout of abusive torment on her, there was steel in her blue Tully eyes, a confidence within her that she had never seen before. The second was that this young girl, who everyone thought was naive, provincial and stupid could one day be the death of all of them. She saw how Sansa cast her eyes downwards, wincing in pain with every sudden movement. She knew how the girl had actually looked at all those who stood around her and watched as Joffrey inflicted pain upon her, aiming to humiliate, but earning only bitterness in the facade of tears. 

 "There, there, my dear," Olenna comforted Sansa once they were in the safety of the gardens where the Tyrells made their makeshift home in King's Landing. "Here, you don't need to hide how you feel. You're safe with us." The Tyrell's girls were already scrambling to serve tea and lemon cakes, Olenna remembered that Sansa liked them best during the first few teas when they had hosted her when they just arrived in the capital. 

 Sansa remained emotionless, but she did take a bite out of a lemon cake. "Thank you," she replied softly. 

 "What your brother did out there, Sansa, was..." 

 "Utterly appalling," Sansa cut Olenna off. "I pray that my family see the error of their ways." Olenna rolled her eyes. 

 "Come now, sweet girl, there are no Lannister spies here," Olenna barked despite the kind nature of her words. It was an open challenge as well, to anyone who dared to challenge her and her family. "You can speak openly when you're here with me. You must know that the wheatfields in Highgarden grows so tall that they hide not only snakes, but wolves as well." 

 Sansa's eyes widened. She knew that Olenna's words held double meaning. They got even bigger when she handed her a sealed letter that bore no indication as to who sent it to her. Quickly, she opened the letter and read its contents. It contained only a mere few words, but she instantly recognized the handwriting. They were written by Robb and her mother. Just three words. She was so happy that she threw the letter aside on the table and broke down into tears. 

 "We are safe." 

 Olenna did not need to read the contents of the letter to know what message they carried. Sansa's reaction had been enough, but still the necessary precautions have to be taken. Even if there were spies around them, no one would suspect her comforting Sansa for being tortured by Joffrey. So, she very quietly took the letter and tore it to pieces before scattering it towards Blackwater Bay. "There is word that the unknown soldiers that came to aid your brother were from Dorne," she told Sansa in a very hushed voice as she gave the girl a hug. "Oberyn Martell is at their head. Listen very carefully, child, if you ever want to stay alive in these times, you must be on your toes." 

 "How do I know that I can trust you?" Sansa asked Olenna, using the same wisdom that she had just given her against her. 

 This time, Olenna gave her a grandmotherly smile. "You don't, dear," Olenna answered plainly. "However, it doesn't hurt us to be kind to one another once in a while. It must be really hard for you, being in a war, separated from your family." In all actuality, with the constant shifting of allegiances the Tyrells had done, Olenna was paving their exit route. If the Young Wolf really could turn the tide with Dorne's help, then everyone would be under his mercy. It would be wise to be remembered as a distant benefactor than a distant assailant.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor, poor Sansa. Right, I know that I'm putting Sansa into her "I will get my revenge if it's the last thing I do" stage quite early in, but it is rather important to the fic, so bear with me. 
> 
> Is Olenna in with the Martells with this? Well, only Olenna knows for now. 
> 
> And WHEW! Gosh, that was a bit close with Tyrion, don't cha think? 
> 
> Enjoy!


	4. Of Wolves and Snakes

 "Look at this," Oberyn tutted when they walked through the halls of Casterly Rock with Robb's host and his merchant-spearmen. They were in the Gilded Gallery, where the walls and ornaments were all made of gold, glittering gold of all shades, not only yellow, but also black and rose. "The Lannisters live in the heights of luxury when the rest of Westeros is starving..." 

 Brynden Tully harrumphed. "I won't blame anyone if they chipped the gold off these halls to scrounge for a bit of bread in the winter," he said. 

 "It doesn't work that way, Uncle Brynden," Talisa sighed. "Using this much gold now will only drive the price of food up and they'll need more gold to pay for a bit of bread that ever." 

 Her words made Oberyn laugh and Robb slightly stunned. "King Robb, you should make your Queen one of your advisors. Her knowledge in economics is what you'll need in the future," he said. In truth, Robb was the husband of an amazingly wise woman but he had not seen it yet. Most men never knew the worth of their beloved until it is too late. Although there was no doubt that Robb loved Talisa, he would have to learn to understand that she has more to the eye to being a beautiful sight as well as a stubborn healer, if the rumors were true. 

"Aye, I should," Robb replied, holding his wife now by her waist. "It is such a waste though, all this gold, but only an empty show for all to see." 

 "What do we do now?" Catelyn asked. "Now that we've taken Casterly Rock from the Lannisters, will they come and take it back or will they dig their heels deeper into King's Landing?"

 It was a difficult decision to make, no doubt one that Robb would need time to think about, however limited time they have. The Rock was theirs now, and no doubt they would have incited the anger of the Lannisters. However, they did need a base of operations. They did require a place where they could house not only their own soldiers but also their prisoners and camp-followers. They needed a makeshift home and they needed food. 

 "We will stay here," Robb declared. "But first, I want every hole on this Rock flushed out and brought to light. I want to know every strength and weakness, so no one can take us by surprise when the Lannisters figure that they might want it back." 

 "I will have it done, Your Grace," Nymeria offered and sped off to work immediately. 

 "She will not disappoint you," Oberyn offered, and Robb nodded in acknowledgment. After he had seen how well Obara could lead the Dornish spearmen, he would have no doubts in Nymeria's talents. "Your direwolf was very impressive also." 

 Grey Wind was not only fierce in battle, it was also able to heed Robb's commands. It was clever and protective of its master. Oberyn could have sworn that he saw it rip the throats off Lannister soldiers before mauling dozens more. "It is no wonder they call you the Young Wolf," he told Robb. 

 "Grey Wind has stuck with me ever since he was a little pup," Robb replied. "He's as close to family as he can be." With those words, he dismissed his bannermen, leaving only himself, Oberyn and his mother and wife. When he made sure that they were truly alone, he asked, "Did she get the letter?" 

 

"She must have," Oberyn said. "The Tyrells might not want any dealings with our ventures, but they will deliver a message or two. They know in which direction the winds blow." The Tyrells should not have taken the rose as their sigil. They, more than every house in Westeros, should have been snakes. But, like the plants that they took proud of in the Reach, they would wait and see which way would bring them to safety and survival. He would not begrudge them to this end. 

 Catelyn sighed. "I hope that Sansa receives no ill-treatment from them when they get wind of this... venture," she said. A mother's sense was more than often the most accurate mode of foresight. "Every moment she spends there would surely lead to a greater nightmare." 

 Oberyn said nothing. He had no heart to tell her that the Tyrells had sent word in return, that Sansa was whipped with a cat o' nine tails the very moment Joffrey found out about their victory. "Do not worry, Lady Catelyn, once things settle down here, I will make for King's Landing to claim Dorne's seat upon the Small Council as promised to us. I will make sure that your daughter returns to you unharmed." 

 "You'd best make sure that no harm comes to her from you as well," Robb reminded him. He had not only embraced Oberyn as a brother before all their men, but the contract between Houses Stark and Martell had already been drawn. Dorne and the North would acknowledge one another as independent kingdoms and aid to see Daenerys Targaryen upon the Iron Throne when she crosses the Narrow Sea. Sansa would marry Oberyn to seal the alliance, and in return, Dorne would provide Robb's armies with whatever aid they can. It seemed to good to be true. 

 Trying to look offended, Oberyn allayed his fears. "King Robb, please believe me when I say that will never treat those closest to me with ill will," he said. "Your sister will only know a marriage of love and passion unlike any other." Catelyn wrinkled her face at Oberyn's last sentence and Robb just grimaced through it. Northern prudishness was a fun thing to watch and provoke, Oberyn told himself. He wondered if his future bride would be anything like them. "Well, if there is nothing that you need of me for now, I think it is best that I retire," he said. "I will see Your Grace and Lady Stark again tomorrow." 

 "Wouldn't you want a room here with your daughters, Prince Oberyn?" Catelyn asked him. 

 Oberyn politely refused with a slightly... deviant smirk that Robb immediately knew its meaning. "No, Lady Catelyn... I've made some other arrangements." 

 He left the gallery before Catelyn could come to any conclusions, and before Robb decided to investigate further. 

* * *

 He had his daughters house Ellaria in one of the more... discreet but higher-end brothel in the town of Lannisport right below Casterly Rock the very moment victory was sounded. It would not do for a strange, beautiful woman to have suddenly appeared in the middle of the taken fortress. Although both he and Ellaria freely pursued others, men and women alike, sometimes separately and sometimes between them, he worried more for the poor minds of the Northmen than for Ellaria's safety. These men were honor-bound to a fault to the point he felt that they would rather starve and gnaw on bones than forsake doing what they thought was right. 

 Thankfully, Ellaria was understanding and accommodating of their new situation. At least she understood that if they were to take Sansa home with them, safely and with the blessing of her family, he could not be known to have her as his paramour until the situation had somewhat calmed. His future in-laws would have uncontrollable fits if she just appeared before them without warning. 

 "How were your future in-laws today?" Ellaria asked him as they soaked in the large, two-person tub together. 

 "Ecstatic, as always," Oberyn replied. "I might think that our dear Young Wolf would be a tougher challenge than we actually thought, and don't even " 

 Ellaria almost pouted. "Let me think... the boy acts like he has a rake up his arse?" she asked. 

 "If the boy really had one up there..." All Oberyn received from Ellaria was a chiding splash of water to his face. "Nevertheless, the Starks love their family. They would do everything to get Sansa back." 

 "Sounds like there are a great many similarities between their family and yours," Ellaria added. "Things... would be easier, no?" 

 Oberyn did not deny that such similarities. He had not realized it until Ellaria had pointed it out for him. Both their families had their seats in places of extreme weather. The Starks lived where it was harshly cold while the Martells made their home in a desert. They thrived where others could not, and they had the love of their people because they thrived with them. 

 "Have you ever wondered what your future wife would be like, lover?" 

 "Lady Olenna Tyrell has told me that she is a girl that hides in the mask of a naive child caught in war, answering for her brother's transgressions against King Joffrey," he answered. "She actually is a wolf on the prowl, waiting for the perfect chance to attack." Part of him didn't want to believe the Queen of Thornes, but he knew that with so much uncertainty in the Seven Kingdoms, when the balance of power being so unstable, she dared not to burn  _all_  her bridges. She would placate any major player possible, in hopes that they would aid her to be closer to her goals, whatever they were. 

 Ellaria sighed. "Poor girl," she commented. "We must remove her from the wretched place as soon as we can." 

 There was no need for Oberyn to disagree. "I cannot allow another innocent girl to be tormented at the hands of the Lannisters again," he said, leaning in to give Ellaria a long kiss, one of promise. "If I had failed Elia, I will not fail Princess Sansa Stark." 

 "Oberyn..." she cooed, kissing his temple in hopes that he would stop going back to the memories of his grief. "You will go into the capital, and you will save her. You will marry her and you will return her to her family if needs be." They had gone through the notions before. If it was what they needed to do to bring the Lannisters down, suffering another woman in Oberyn's life would be what Ellaria was willing to suffer. Besides, she herself loved beautiful women and she had heard too many tales of Sansa Stark's beauty, what with her famed Northern grace and Tully coloring. 

 She took his either side of his head and pulled him closer so she could kiss him, coaxing out of the shell of despair that he would fall into from time to time. She kissed him until he fought for dominance, seizing her in his arms and lowering her slightly into the water, causing her to yelp slightly. 

 "I love you..." he growled. "But soon, we will have to learn to love another." 

 "Not if she falls for me first," Ellaria counted. "A girl whose hair is kissed by fire... have you had any redheads, my love?"

 Oberyn chuckled. "Not at all," he replied. "However, I have heard that Littlefinger once boasted that he has had  _both_  the Tully girls when we were younger." 

 " _Both_  of them?" Ellaria asked, impersonating the raised voices of highborn women when they received the latest gossip. "But... Lady Catelyn..." 

 "It's all a boast by Littlefinger, my love," Oberyn explained. "Lady Catelyn might have been a Tully, but she's a true Northern lady now. Honor is the main commodity there. It's a strange place, the North. It's a wonder that they don't all huddle together for warmth up there when it snows even in the summer." 

 "I'm sure that you will remedy that," Ellaria replied. Of course, there was no real sincerity in those words. If Oberyn was needed to move to the North after his marriage with Sansa, she and her daughters would not be able to follow him. But those days were still far, far from them. Nothing would be certain... yet. 

* * *

 "Do you know what they say about the Red Viper?" Robb asked Talisa while they were preparing for bed. "They say that he's bedded half of Westeros, men  _and_  women alike, and it's been confirmed that he has six more bastard daughters other than Obara and Nymeria." 

 Talisa raised an eyebrow. "Is that a bad thing in Westeros?" she asked. Before she had met Robb at the Battle of Oxcross, she had just finished her medical training and settled in a strange, war-torn land. She did not have the time to learn of its customs, more so of its politics. While being the Queen in the North now meant that her hold of the latter was improving, she felt that she was still lacking in the former. "Where I came from, it is very common for a man to take many wives, and a woman to take many lovers..." 

 "But this  _isn't_  Essos," Robb complained. "This isn't even Dorne!" He wasn't stupid. He knew that the Dornishmen were not all Andals like the rest of Westeros, nor were they descended from the First Men like the Starks and many Northern Houses were. The Dornish were descended from the Rhoynar, free with their love and free in their ways. They cared little for what outsiders thought of them. "My sister grew up with stories of valiant princess and damsels in distress... I just don't want her to be disappointed." 

 Talisa chuckled. "I married a King who made his name in a war for vengeance, and I love him," she soothed Robb, holding him to her bosom. "Perhaps your sister will find joy in Prince Oberyn... she is a princess in distress, isn't she?"

 Only Talisa could speak such words and not incite any rage on his part. "I know... it's just that... I'm just... frustrated that I can't be the one to march to King's Landing and demand my sister back. We all know how well that went the last time," Robb replied, rubbing his temples, nursing an impending headache. His uncle and grandfather had gone to King's Landing to demand his aunt Lyanna back from Rhaegar Targaryen. King Aerys had started Robert's Rebellion for killing them. His grandfather was bound in chains and suspended from the rafters in the throne room in his armor, burned by wildfire, the "champion" of House Targaryen while his uncle was bound by a Tyroshi strangulation device, a longsword placed just out of his reach. His grandfather was cooked alive in his armor while his brother strangled himself trying to save his father. No one would ever allow him to enter King's Landing just to save Sansa, particularly when King Joffrey was said to be as mad as Aerys, if not worse. 

 "Oh, my love," Talisa whispered. "Sometimes we must have enough trust in ourselves to place that same trust in others." That was her Young Wolf. It wasn't that he was stubborn and unwilling to listen. He was idealistic. He, probably like his father, believed in the good in people, the good amidst whatever evil times they were in. He carried the world in his shoulders, in that way of thinking. He would fall to the ground before he would take the throne if he continued being like that, she feared. 

 "I should like to trust him," Robb continued. "He's a great warrior, he knows his poisons, he even has an eye for strategy... but..." 

 "Robb, that's you being the jealous older brother talking," Talisa chided her husband gently. "You're lucky that I don't have any, or you would have met an equally gruesome fate." Chuckling as her husband engulfed her in a somewhat heated kiss, she flipped him beneath her and had her way with him. It was the first time Robb had made love in a room gilded with gold and jewels. The experience was heightened by the fact that he had an exotic woman from Essos with him. A woman that he knew was fit to be Queen more than any Frey girl would be. 

 When they collapsed on the bed after their pleasure, Talisa rested her head on Robb's sculpted chest, content. "You know... I've heard that he's bedded men too..." 

 Talisa took the nearest pillow in her hand and gave her husband a good whack in the head. 

* * *

 The next day, Robb had the citizens of Casterly Rock and Lannisport gather in the fortress. Messages had been sent since they had taken the Rock, that he would speak with the noblemen, the merchants and the smallfolk about the changes that were going to take place there. However, thanks to Talisa, they were doing things differently. 

 The smallfolk were positioned right in front of Robb and his men, so that they could hear his voice the clearest. The noblemen were positioned behind him. There was a square in the fortress that was built so that whoever stood in the center could be heard clearly by anyone in the surrounding area. It was there where Robb had invited them all to listen to him. As a sign of goodwill and good faith, everyone had to place their arms outside the square, even Robb himself chained Grey Wind at a post near where the weapons were stored. 

 "You do not need to fear me," Robb told them. "I am not a conquerer. I am not here to strip you of your lands or your livelihoods. I am a son, seeking out his dead father's bones. I am a brother, looking for his sister's safety. Winter is coming, and I know that all of you will want your families close to you and your safety assured. This does not need to end in bloodshed, nor should it end in quarrels. If you do not want us here, we will leave in peace." 

 There were roars of agreement from unknown members of the crowds, but the citizens of Casterly Rock did not seem convinced. They were too used to Lannister tyranny. They still could not find the ability to believe in Robb's words. They feared that they might be too good to be true. 

 "Gregor Clegane scorched the Riverlands under Tywin Lannister's orders. They can't plant anything anymore. But look at the farmlands of the Westerlands. They are still fertile. There's some months yet from winter and I daresay that there'll be a good harvest if we all manage it together. I promise you, your food is yours. My men and I will pay for what we require and we won't take more than we need. If we do find ourselves needing more food, we'll have to plant them ourselves." 

 Applause rang through, and half the people were now cheering. Food and shelter, that was what all people needed. The smallfolk wouldn't care which lords they served or who they were. They cared for their own survival, which was increasingly hard to do in those dark times. As time passed, more and more started to cheer and clap their hands, and by the time Robb turned towards the noblemen, mostly Lannister offshoots and noble houses bound to House Lannister, they were very mildly impressed. 

 "So, my lords, what is your decision?" he asked them, looking at every one of them in the eye. 

 "You have the love of the smallfolk, Your Grace," said Lord Payne. His nephew was Ser Ilyn Payne, the King's Justice that beheaded Eddard Stark, not that the Young Wolf needed to know that if he didn't already. "Even if we disagreed with you, they would have ripped us all apart. You've heard what they've done at King's Landing, haven't you?"

 Another lord quipped, "Your Grace, our situation has neither improved nor worsened since you took Casterly Rock from the Lannisters. They took our men, our resources and you will take our men and our resources. So long as you do not take anything more, we couldn't care less, really." 

 Neutrality. No, not neutrality. Nonchalance. They really couldn't care less. 

 "My men will take ten Lannister heads for every one you've lost for them, my lords," Robb promised. "You no longer need to suffer under their tyranny. Your lands are yours, so are your men. But hear me out when I say that if I find that after this day, if any one of you harms what is mine, I will pay the price back tenfold. The Lannisters aren't the only ones that pay their debts around here." 

 The lords all fell silent. They watched on as the smallfolk continued to cheer Robb on. "King Robb!" they shouted. "Long live the King!" 

 "So be it," said a third lord. "We shall have to suffer your stay here at Casterly Rock, if you promise to return to whence you came after this bloody war is over." 

 Robb betrayed no emotion. "I never intended to stay for long in the first place, my lord," he replied.

 With that, the lords of the Westerlands were dismissed, and Robb Stark had officially gained control of Casterly Rock, albeit for as long as he could hold it. 

 "Eloquent speech, Your Grace," Roose Bolton said. "Now, what do we do?"

 "Get every man we have shovels, rakes and watering cans, Bolton," Robb said, clapping Roose's shoulder. "We've got a lot of work to do, and we at least need to be seen doing it." Robb knew that Roose Bolton would not agree to this, but he had no choice. Robb was King and the King said that they would plant their own food, even if it was just for show. 

 Oberyn Martell was so impressed that he clapped his hands when he walked past him. "You're on your way to becoming a very charismatic and forceful speaker, Your Grace," he said. "It's a good start to finally becoming a politician." 

 "Oh, spare me the theatrics," Robb rolled his eyes. "How soon can you get to King's Landing?"

 "Three weeks ride if I set out tomorrow," Oberyn replied. "Maybe two and a half..." 

 "I need you to get there as soon as possible and get my sister out of there," Robb said. "The Lannisters will only..." He was interrupted by Oberyn, showing him an invitation letter. 

 "Nymeria went through the Lannisters' letter-box and found this," Oberyn explained. "It's a wedding invitation to all the lords of the Realm. King Joffrey of House Baratheon is going to marry Lady Margery of House Tyrell. I will enter King's Landing to attend the wedding in my brother's name and take his seat upon the Small Council. That is when I will see to your sister's safety." 

 There was no need for empty threats between them now. They were already on the same boat. Without saying anything further, Robb gave Oberyn a brotherly embrace and left to see his mother and wife. 

 He hoped that he trusted the right person for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun with this chapter because we get to see the... eh... tension between Oberyn and Robb. I won't think that it's THAT kind of tension, mind you. Oberyn would be too bored by Robb to even want to look at him that way. 
> 
> Nevertheless, I do apologize if you were looking for any smut in this chapter. I really wanted to focus on how Ellaria and Talisa would counsel their men and how those two would react to their advice. At least, Oberyn's come out with a rather sound plan, no?
> 
> Enjoy!


	5. The Arrival

 It was only in the middle of the night when Sansa dared to have Shae check on her after being whipped by Joffrey.

 

 "He is a monster!" Shae exclaimed when she saw the whip-marks on Sansa once she was in the relative safety of her own chambers. She had taken off Sansa's outermost dress and her corset to check her skin. The reddest ones were on the back of her neck, where it had not been protected by her clothing, but there were angry marks even on her back, despite the fact that she was clothed there. She frantically retrieved a healing salve that she'd gotten from the market in efforts to help them heal better, but Sansa winced and hissed whenever she applied it to her skin. "Does it hurt, my lady?" 

 Sansa shook her head silently, with a tear in her eye. She could not let anyone know that she was hurting. She could not let any sign of weakness show. "I can manage," she said, tempted to bite her sheets when Shae applied the salve to stop herself from being too loud. 

 There was a knock on the door, followed by a soft, male voice. "Lady Sansa, are you in there?" However, Sansa put her hand over Shae's, warning her not to respond. "Lady Sansa, this is Varys here. Forgive me, but I have to come in." 

 Varys was met with Shae and her dagger the moment he entered. "My dear, if I meant Lady Sansa any harm, you wouldn't even be standing here right now," he said, not moving a single inch until Shae dropped her dagger slowly. Instead, he pressed another salve into her hands. "This, I believe, would work better than any market-bought remedy. Lord Baelish uses this for his most... battered ladies at his little establishment." Still, Shae did not move. "I'll wait here until you're done tending to her." 

 However, Shae was resourceful enough to put a screen between Sansa and Varys so that she could at least do her work on Sansa while she could talk to Varys. "Lord Varys, what brings you here in this hour?" Sansa asked, trying to sound as she would normally, despite the stinging pain that she was feeling on her back. 

 "It would seem like the players of the game had changed, Lady Sansa," Varys replied. "Your brother was not supposed to take Casterly Rock, not with the fact that he had executed one of the most important northern lords himself. Have you ever wondered, how on earth did he gain 10000 new soldiers in the blink of an eye?"

 "I'm a stupid little girl with traitor's blood, Lord Varys," Sansa replied. "I have no head for strategies." 

 "That may be," Varys replied, playing with Sansa's game. He saw her in court, he saw how her eyes worked. She looked as if she was one the ice-clad mountains of her homeland. Still and cold, taking whatever beating the winds dealt her. The world and the King had forgotten that the ice-clad mountains were where avalanches occurred. "Your brother took Casterly Rock because he entered a dangerous alliance with an even more dangerous man. If the entire plan backfires, the worst is certainly not Tywin Lannister having a row of heads to cleave at the hand of Ser Gregor, his personal butcher." 

 Sansa did not understand what he had meant. "Why are you telling me this, Lord Varys?" she asked him. 

 "Because you are the center of your brother's new strategem, my dear," Varys said. "He will try to use his new ally to take you back. You must be all eyes and ears, Lady Sansa. If you survive this, you'll not only be free from King Joffrey and his predilections towards butchery, you'll be back with your family." 

 "D... don't you serve the Iron Throne?" she asked him. 

 "No, my dear, I serve the Realm," Varys answered. "And now, the Realm needs a strong woman like you away from King's Landing where you can flower into the person you should be. Do not worry, my lady, no one will know that I came here. This conversation never happened." 

 "Thank you, Lord Varys." 

 "No, thank you for your strength, Lady Sansa," Varys replied. "No one would have expected you to survive this long. But you did, and here we are now. I pray that you continue to live, no matter how hard it seems to be. Live on, my dear." 

 Sansa pretended not to understand his words. She did. She took them as encouragement. "Thank you, Lord Varys," she repeated and had Shae send Varys on his way. Yes, she would survive. She was a Stark of Winterfell, and she would weather this storm like her family had weathered harsher storms than the rest of Westeros has ever known. 

* * *

 "So, what do we do about Casterly Rock?" Tyrion asked Tywin during a Small Council meeting a few days after the wedding date for Joffrey and Margery's wedding date was decided. "Robb Stark seems to have a field day making himself at home." 

 "Actually, Lord Tyrion is right," Varys said. "My little birds told me that the Young Wolf is quite literally having a field... day. He and his men got busy planting as much food as they could side by side the smallfolk in their fields. Apparently, he told them that they'll grow their own food if there's not enough for them to buy. At this rate, they'll have radishes and lettuces in three weeks." 

 Pycelle furrowed his brow. "What a disgusting maneuver!" he exclaimed. "Does he think that merely showing that his heart is with the smallfolk..." 

 "Well, whatever he's doing, it seems to be working," Tywin interjected, throwing a bunch of opened letters towards the center of the table. "I received these this morning. The lords of the Westerlands have told me that they cannot afford to go against their own smallfolk, lest a repeat of last year's riots here start again. Robb Stark now sees himself as a champion of the people." 

 Psychological warfare. No one would have thought that Robb Stark would have such a hold in the art of war. But then again, it was not such a foreign concept to the Northern lords. It was always how they had ruled their lands. Ned Stark had always been the executioner when the laws of the North commanded it to be, and no doubt his son had learned from his example. 

 If Tywin Lannister was seething in rage, he did not show it. He was the man who had caused the extinction of two Houses in his youth. They still sang the "Rains of Castemere" in his honor. He was a cold, calculating man, and many feared him. They feared him because they cannot read him. 

 "Let him rot in the Rock," Tywin proclaimed. "As long as our forces can hold King's Landing, we can wait him out until he loses his patience and dares to try his luck. Let him gain control over the Westerlands. He will be so drunk with power that he would want more. He is a boy playing at war, and even the greatest warlords will fall as greatly as they rise." 

 However, Tyrion could detect that his father was not yet done with his words. "And this... just came," he said, almost slamming the newest letter onto the table. "It seems like Dorne wants a piece of the North as well." 

 Tyrion was the first one who grabbed the letter and read it over and over again, as fast as he could. "Prince Doran wants Lady Sansa as Prince Oberyn's bride... as a measure of goodwill?" he asked. "Whatever does Dorne want her for?"

 "It would seem that they're still sore about the fact that it was Lady Lyanna Stark that caused Prince Rhaegar to abandon Princess Elia," Cersei said smugly. "Imagine, what... punishments they would have for Lady Lyanna's neice..." 

 "The Dornishmen are savages," Pycelle commented. "Prince Oberyn the chiefest of them all. An expert in poisons, he's killed more people than he has uh... brought to his bed... It won't be a happy marriage. Not when he's already fathered so many bastards." 

 Varys nodded. "Sand Snakes, they're called, after their father, the Red Viper. The three oldest ones are more menacing and deadly than the next, I heard." 

 "By marrying Sansa to Dorne, she will lose her claim to the North as Robb Stark's heir," Tywin said with a long breath. "At least, we will have one less thing to worry about after Theon Greyjoy killed their brothers Bran and Rickon." In all technicality, Dorne was not truly part of the Seven Kingdoms. They were ruled by a Prince or Princess, who was head of House Martell. If Sansa Stark was to be known as Princess Sansa Martell, then her status as heir to Winterfell would be nullified. It was the perfect plan. 

 "So, you'll put the poor girl into a pit of snakes instead," Tyrion concluded. "While you wait for the opportune moment to put her brother in his proper place." 

 There was a shadow of a smile on Tywin Lannister's lips. "Patience is the most important thing to have when you want to exact your revenge," he said. "As it happens, I'm a patient man." 

 "When would Sansa be told of her upcoming nuptials?" Cersei asked her father, definitely relishing the chance to tell her that she would be married to a monster. 

 "She won't be," Tywin replied. "They'll be married after the Dornish has settled down in King's Landing." 

* * *

 The Dornish party arrived in King's Landing just as Oberyn said they would, two and a half weeks since the day they rode out from Casterly Rock, meeting with the rest of the retinue from Dorne on the Roseroad. Oberyn left Obara and Nymeria at Casterly Rock with their ten thousand spearmen, who once again donned their guises as merchants selling lemons, pomegranates and oranges, the chief exports of Dorne. 

 "Ellaria and I will ride onwards to King's Landing," Oberyn told the lords in his retinue, one of them was Lord Harmon Uller, Ellaria's father. "I want to make sure what kinds of shit has been stirred there before we make our ... true entrance." 

 "Yes, my Prince," said one of the lords, while Ellaria bade her father a temporary farewell. "We have already sent word to Lord Baelish's pleasure house of your imminent arrival." 

 Oberyn chuckled. "You do know me well," he said. "I shall see you all soon then." 

 He and Ellaria rode in silence. They would arrive in the city before dawn, before anyone could see them coming. Pleasure houses do not sleep, so he was not worried about their readiness to receive him. A blond boy in about his twenties came to welcome them after they had dismounted at the stables, no doubt one of the majordomos that Littlefinger kept to run his business. "My lord, if there is anything I can..." 

 "Food, wine and our rooms first," Oberyn cut the boy off. "We've been riding all night." 

 The blond bowed his head and led them to a large room surrounded by windows, with a behemoth of a bed with ample pillows and blankets. Soundlessly, he and Ellaria crept into bed until they were woken up for their midnight meal and went back to sleep again. 

 When they woke, it was already past dawn and Oberyn made contact with certain little birds. Lord Varys was an infamous spymaster but no one ever knew his true allegiance, except for him and his brother. They shared the same goals ever since Robert Baratheon took the Iron Throne. It was not hard for him to work with Varys, although he knew so little about the man.

 After they had their breakfast and some of the wine they brought with them poured, Oberyn had Littlefinger's majordomo, whose name was revealed to be Olyvar bring them a few girls. Three were selected, of different shapes and sizes. He circled the girls like vultures, sneakily touching them, sampling the feel of their skins, before landing on the tallest one. 

 "Look at this one," he said to Ellaria, "how lovely is she?"

 Ellaria took notice of her long, golden hair that fell in perfect curls. "Beautiful," she responded as Oberyn inspected her further. "But... pale..." 

 "They like them pale in the capital," Oberyn explained as he removed the girl's dress, revealing her smooth, fair skin and small breasts. "It shows that they don't work the fields." However, the girl did not seem too receptive. "Do I frighten you?" he asked her. The girl merely shook her head. He shot a questioning look towards Ellaria. "You like?"

 "Timid," Ellaria answered with a slight shake of her head. "Timid bores me." 

 So, Oberyn went towards the next one while the first put her dress back on. The girl was smiling wickedly already. "You're a bit of mischief, aren't you?" he asked her, and she chuckled slightly. "I think she likes you," he commented to Ellaria, removing her clothes as easily as he did the first. 

 "She has good taste," Ellaria replied, knowing that they have already found their mark. 

 Running his hand around the cheeks of her buttocks, he asked, "You're not timid, are you?" As a response to his question, the girl walked towards Ellaria and stretched her leg backwards to touch her head with her toes, causing Ellaria to let out a delighted chuckle. "Do you like women?"

 "Only when they look like her, my lord," the girl replied as Ellaria caressed the tip of her nipple with the tip of her finger. 

 "This one will do nicely," Ellaria added, slowly drinking in the girl's curves and noting that they had chosen the one with the reddest hair among the three while Oberyn kissed her shoulder. 

 "Very good, my lady," Olyvar said, but was immediately corrected by Ellaria. 

 "Oh, I'm not a lady," she said, matter-of-factly, as it it was the plainest thing in the world to say. 

 "A... term of courtesy in this establishment," Olyvar offered. 

 "A lie, anywhere," she returned. "Why not use use the right words? I'm a bastard, she's a whore... and you're a what? A procurer?" 

 Olyvar decided to let the matter rest. The customer was always right. "Any of the others?" he inquired. Ellaria pouted and merely flicked her head, and Oberyn understood her meaning. 

 "The two girls can leave," he told Olyvar, and as the rest of the girls made to exit the room, he added, "you'll stay." 

 Olyvar, however, seemed surprised. "I'm afraid I'm not on offer, my lord," he said. 

 "Everyone who works for Littlefinger is on offer," Oberyn rebuked as he poured himself some more wine. "Take off your clothes, we'll be here awhile." By then, Ellaria and their girl had already started the festivities. 

 "My lord," Olyvar protested. No, he merely tried to protest. It was a half-hearted attempt at best. 

 "I am a Prince, boy," Oberyn insisted. "Have you ever been with a Prince?"

 Somehow, those words made him relent. His tight, formal expression loosened into a smile that Oberyn knew had always existed. "Can't say I have," he returned as Oberyn approached him, prowling like a sleek tiger. "I'm wildly expensive," he replied, but Oberyn did not even budge. 

 "Take off your clothes." 

 There was no reason for him not to obey. As he threw off his robes with a little help from the Dornish Prince, he  asked, "Which way do you like it?"

 The only response Oberyn gave was a quick, hard grasp on Olyvar's crotch. "My way," Oberyn almost growled. He would have taken it a step further, if fleeting voices singing an ill-loved song wafted through the various doorways of the establishment. The song soon got so loud that even Ellaria could hear it. 

 "Oberyn..." she pleaded, but her words fell on deaf ears. Oberyn was already out of their room by the time she got off the bed. 

 The voices came from the adjacent room, where two Lannister men with two girls on each of their laps were singing. He could tell that they were Lannisters because of their golden hair and their light-colored eyes. 

 "You lost, friend?" one of them asked him. 

 "Forgive me for staring, but I don't see many Lannisters where I'm from," Oberyn answered. With every second he looked at them, he wanted to skin them alive, even if he did kill more than a handful of them at Casterly Rock. 

 "I don't see many Dornishmen in the capital," the first Lannister returned. It was a rather neutral answer, containing neither barb or ill-intent. 

 "We don't like the smell," Oberyn added, almost as if it was a joke. He was stopped by Ellaria, who grasped his forearm rather tightly. She made to pull him back to their room, but he did not budge. 

 "Come with me, lover," she cooed, but the second Lannister man had something to add.  

 "Gods, look at this one!" the fool exclaimed, ignoring Olyvar's suggestion for them to be moved to a private room. "Why are you wasting a woman like this on a Dornishman? Bring him a shaved goat and a bottle of olive oil!" 

 Even Ellaria seemed appalled at this jape, but not because of her nor Oberyn. This man surely did not know who he was dealing with and had not the brains to exercise caution. He even had the audacity to laugh at his own joke. 

 "Do you know why all the world hates a Lannister?" Oberyn asked him. He walked closer to them and watched them as they stood up from their chairs and their girls fleeing the room. "You think that your gold and your lions and your... gold lions make your better than everyone." The two Lannisters did not respond further, only looking at him, trying to anticipate his next move. "May I tell you a secret? You're not a golden lion, you're just a pink little man who's far too slow on the draw." 

 It was a contest to see who would reach their weapon first, and the moment the second Lannister had his hand on the hilt of his sword, Oberyn had stabbed his wrist with his dagger, causing him to cry out in agony. 

 "The longsword is a bad option in close quarters," Oberyn explained, teaching both of them a lesson. He turned towards the first Lannister and said, "When I pull my blade, your friend starts bleeding quite a lot I'm afraid... So many veins in the wrist." As he spoke, he twiched his dagger ever so slightly, increasing the second Lannister's agony exponentially. "He'll live if you get him help straightaway... so... decisions..." 

 Luckily for the two of them, they were interrupted by another Lannister. This time, one that was far shorter than any one of them. "Prince Oberyn, forgive the intrusion, we heard that there might be..." Without warning, Oberyn pulled his dagger from the second Lannister's wrist, causing Tyrion Lannister to come to a pause. "Trouble..." 

 He did not bother to watch the two fools exit the pleasure house, but drew Ellaria into his arms. "Apologies, my love," he offered as she kissed him fervently, completely ignoring Tyrion and the man beside him. 

 Undaunted, Tyrion continued, "I'm here to welcome you to the capital..." 

 Finally, it was Ellaria that decided that they were supposed to stop. Sighing at the tedium of the need of courtesy, Oberyn introduced Ellaria first. "Ellaria Sand, my paramour" he told the two newcomers, and two Ellaria, he gestured graciously, "The King's own uncle Imp, Tyrion Lannister, son of Tywin." 

 "If there's anything I can do to make your stay in King's Landing-" 

 "And what are you?" Oberyn asked the man next to Tyrion. "His hired killer?"

 The man smiled rather widely and said, "It started that way, aye. And now I'm a knight." 

 He could see that they made strange partners, those two. They must have weathered many tribulations together. "How did that come to pass?" he asked further. 

 The knight shrugged. "I killed the right people, I suppose." 

 His answer was so amusing that Oberyn could not help but laugh, with the other two awkwardly joining in. "We'll need a few more girls," he suggested. "Girls, yes?" Strangely enough, Tyrion shook his head while his knight nodded. It was a rather hilarious sight. "You don't partake?" he asked Tyrion. 

 "I can't partake... now. I'm on a diplomatic mission," he replied. "Prince Oberyn... might I have a word with you in private?" Immediately, Ellaria plucked herself away from Oberyn's arms and started to move back towards their room. Once she had left, both Tyrion and Oberyn walked outside the pleasure house. 

 "Seems like I visited the Lannister brothel by mistake," Oberyn commented. 

 "Oh, they take all kinds," Tyrion replied. It was a truthful observation. Littlefinger's pleasure house provided for any kind of desire at the right price. 

 "Even Dornishmen," Oberyn said in an undertone, but Tyrion was careful not to respond to that in any way. 

 "The King is very grateful that you traveled all this way for his wedding-" 

 "Let's speak truth here, Joffrey is insulted, I am only the second son, after all." Even if Doran could travel so far from Dorne, they would not risk the head of their Prince. Oberyn, who was just as capable as Doran in every way, was the only alternative. 

 "Well, speaking as a fellow second son, I've grown rather used to being the family insult," Tyrion said, trying hard to keep up with Oberyn's long, confidant strides. "Why did you come to King's Landing, Prince Oberyn?"

 "I was invited to the royal wedding!" Oberyn exclaimed rather innocently. It was, of course, the perfect cover. Tyrion might not have known the precise reasons as to why he was in King's Landing, but Oberyn suspected that he would have some inkling of it. 

 "I thought we were speaking truth."

 Oberyn relented. Somewhat. "The last time I was here was many years ago. Another wedding. My sister, Elia and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, the Last Dragon." They paused as two Goldcloaks passed them by, and he continued when they left. "My sister loved him. She bore his children, swaddled them, rocked them and fed them at her own breast. She wouldn't let the wet-nurse touch them. Then beautiful, noble Rhaegar Targaryen left her for another woman... That started a war, and the war ended right here, when your father's armies took the city." 

 Tyrion knew what Oberyn was insinuating. "I wasn't actually..." 

 "They butchered those children," Oberyn continued, cutting Tyrion off. "My nephew and niece. Carved them up and wrapped them in Lannister cloaks. And did you know what they did to my sister?"

 Tyrion did not answer. He could not answer. "I've heard rumors," he said when Oberyn demanded an answer. 

 "So have I," Oberyn returned, looking up towards the sky. "The one I keep hearing is that Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain, raped Elia and split her in half with his greatsword." Tyrion tried to worm his way out of the conversation by repeating that he wasn't there. "If the Mountain killed my sister, your father gave the order..." He despised Tywin Lannister with the very essence of his being. "Tell your father I'm here," he challenged Tyrion. "And tell him that the Lannisters aren't the only one who pay their debts." 

 Oberyn walked calmly back into the pleasure house, where Ellaria was waiting for him. The first part of his mission, which was to secure an alliance with the Young Wolf as already a success. All he needed to do was to marry his sister, Sansa, to free her from Lannister tyranny and to avenge Elia. He hoped that the latter two parts would fall into place as easily as the first. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! Finally, things are shaking up at King's Landing! 
> 
> I hope that you don't find it strange that Tywin Lannister would give Sansa up so easily. I adapted the same reasoning for Sansa to be married off to Dorne from Silberias, because it was the only plausible reason why Tywin would just surrender her to Dorne. 
> 
> I also hope that you enjoyed Oberyn's little exposition for the denizens of Kings' Landing.


	6. The Meeting

 "You can't go anywhere today," Shae told Sansa. "Lord Varys might have given you some good stuff, but it wouldn't do for you to have your back smothered by clothes before they fully heal." She knew from experience that some ones could not be covered, lest they would fester. The whip-marks on her deeper than the rest and even as she applied a fresh layer of it, Sansa still winced and grimaced in pain. They thought that the marks had been healing, but it seemed that they had gotten worse. 

Knowing that Shae was probably, right, she relented. "I... guess I don't have anything to do today," she said, and decided to take her corset off as well. It was a welcome change, to be able to remain in her own room, to be far, far away from prying eyes, preying ones and most importantly, ones that always held her with pity. It would be good for her not to be in their company, at least for a day. 

 "You should send for a healer to look at this, my lady," Shae said, sitting next to Sansa on her bed. "What if it gets worse?"

 No, Sansa did not want to see Maester Pycelle. He was notorious for being a Lannister spy. She did not want to have anything to do with him. "I... I think I can manage," she said firmly, reaching towards her back to touch her wounds. It wasn't good, they were slick, but when she checked the finger she touched them with, there wasn't any pus. 

 A few polite knocks on her door then interrupted them. "Lady Sansa, it's me, Tyrion," said the voice from outside the door. Sansa and Shae exchanged looks and Sansa decided to let Tyrion in. Just like when she admitted Varys into her chambers, she had Shae put up a screen so that Tyrion could not see her with her weeping whip-marks. "Lady Sansa... I'm here to escort you to the Tower of the Hand to see my father." 

 Sansa regretted that she could not contain her shock at that moment. "Wh... what does the Lord Hand want with me?" she asked, her voice starting to tremble. 

 "Well, it's about your future, my dear," Tyrion replied, noting that Shae practically vaulted to Sansa's side to help her get dressed. They had chosen one of Sansa's newest acquisitions, a dress with an almost sheer, gauze-like back with embroidered flowers. It was made in the style of the gowns worn by the ladies from Highgarden, a gift from Lady Margery Tyrell, no doubt, modified to suit her Northern sensibilities. Shae hastily combed and braided her hair simply and they were out the door in twenty minutes. 

 She was walking so stiffly, every step she took measured and calculated, as though maintain an economy as to not over-exerting herself. Even at her lowest in King's Landing, she did not struggle to walk. Taking advantage of his lack of height, he took a discreet step backwards and could see that the flowers on her back seemed to have angry, red leaves. Upon a closer look, he realized that those were not leaves at all. They were marks left by Joffey's whip. 

 But... the last time Joffrey did that was about three weeks ago, just after her brother took Casterly Rock... 

 If Tyrion had paled in anticipation for what was going to come, he was sure that she did not see his expression change. He was sure that a certain someone would not like to see his betrothed to be so clearly in pain. He only hoped that all would be well. 

 Cersei was already waiting for them at the door when they arrived at his father's tower. "Ah, here you are, little dove," Cersei called out to Sansa as sweetly as she used to when they first met in Winterfell. "How are you keeping, my dear? I've not seen you in a long time, I must say." 

 Ever since Robb Stark's triumph, Sansa had made it her sole occupation to avoid anyone who was involved with their family. She hid in the gardens with the Tyrells, or in the Godswood alone. If she couldn't hide in the open, she would hide in her own chambers. "I am well, Your Grace, thank you," Sansa replied graciously, immediately losing her pained expression. Tyrion could not imagine how she had made such a change possible. Sansa was an even better actress than Cersei was. 

 "That's good," Cersei said, taking Sansa's arm in hers as they entered her father's office. "We have a very big surprise for you, little dove. You're to be a bride soon." 

 A... bride?

 Sansa wanted to believe that Cersei said. A few months ago, the Tyrells plotted to have her marry Ser Loras, but for whatever reason, the plan did not fall through. She had thought that she would have found escape with the Tyrells, even if Loras did prefer the company of men (she was not so naive that she was ignorant of  _that_  fact), so much so that she missed the opportunity to leave King's Landing on Littlefinger's ship. She knew, deep down in her gut, she knew that if Cersei had looked so smug it would not turn out well for her. 

 As they walked further into Lord Tywin's office, she could see that there were a number of men next to him, clad in rich yellows and bronze accents. They wore their robes opened to reveal a sliver of their chests and spoke in an accent that she had never heard of before, at least not until now. Cersei tried hard not to chuckle when they stopped next to one of them, who was standing at the foot of the table, directly opposite Lord Tywin. 

 "My lord," Sansa greeted politely, and Tywin nodded his head, acknowledging her greeting. 

 "Lady Sansa, I'd like you to meet Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne," Tywin said, gesturing towards the man right next to her. At his words, the prince in question tipped his head slightly towards her and kissed the knuckles of her hand. She could see that he was far older than she was, yet, had a certain... charm about him. His eyes were as dark as his hair was, his jaw, squarish but chiseled, lined with a dark, short beard from end to end. "He is to be your husband."

 Sansa's eyes widened and her gaze flew back towards Tywin. "My lord?" she asked, almost in shock, forgetting that Oberyn was still holding her hand. 

 "You are the ward of the Iron Throne, Lady Sansa," Tywin said. "In the absence of your Lord father, and with your brother's rebellion, we are your legal guardians now. You will marry who we want you to marry. You will marry Prince Oberyn and place another layer of security between the capital and Sunspear as my granddaughter Myrcella is currently doing." His words were piercing, and merciless. "I'll admit that when you take the name of Martell, your rights to inherit Winterfell and all of its holdings if your brother Robb falls in war will be nullified."

 It took Sansa an incredible amount of self-control not to break down in front of Tywin Lannister. This was a first time that she had heard that her two younger brothers were killed, and she heard it at the same time when she knew that she was to marry a Dornish prince. What did Tywin want her to do? Become a clown that cried and laughed when he wanted to? "Ho... how, my lord?" she was barely able to ask. 

 "Theon Greyjoy turned on Winterfell and sacked it in his father's name," Tywin explained curtly. "Your brothers, Bran and Rickon were apparently burned to death. This makes you the heir to Winterfell, for however short a time it will be." 

 Sansa could feel Oberyn rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb, a sign of comfort. His hand was warm, she could give him that. It stopped her from immediately trembling, and she was grateful for it. "When will I be married, my lord?" she asked, still looking directly at Tywin. 

 "A week from now, Lady Sansa, in this very capital," Tywin answered. "You are luckier than most women in this age, Lady Sansa. Most brides never get to see their husbands before they wed." 

* * *

 The first thing that Oberyn noticed about Robb's beloved sister was that she was nothing like everyone described her to be. Her family told him that she was a fanciful girl, light-hearted and eager to smile. He saw a sombre little thing pained by abuse and torment. The Lannisters told him that she was nothing but a foolish girl, but by the way she stared Tywin Lannister down with those doe-like blue eyes of hers, she proved to be everything but. 

 They thought that he would not notice. They thought that he would not realize that the reddish-purplish leaves on the back of her dress was no embroidery from Highgarden, but lash marks from a whip. They had beaten the girl and not given her proper care. The gauze-like material the color of her skin on the back of her dress yellowed where it touched her weeping wounds. Their insolence knew no bounds. Their cruelty no limits. 

 His hand almost flew to his dagger when Tywin told Sansa that she was now the heir to Winterfell now that her two younger brothers were dead. He had the audacity to even add that her claim to Winterfell would be gone when she would be a Dornish princess. It was a lie that Tywin had wanted so badly to sell to the rest of the world. Perhaps, in this respect that she was lucky that the Lannisters had not detected their deception yet. 

 Still, when surrounded by scheming, prowling lions, Sansa stood tall. Granted, she was physically tall, but she never let a hint of weakness show through. It was an extraordinary, but heartbreaking thing to see it in someone so young and so beautiful. She was an interesting girl, indeed, and he could only marvel at her. When they were dismissed by the Lord Hand, Oberyn decided to take matters into his own hands. 

 "Might I walk with you, my lady?" he asked her. 

 He could see that she tried to force a smile. "Yes, my lord," she almost squeaked once they were out of Tywin's office. She was still wearing her mask of submission, the mask that veiled many more things. He  took her in his arm until they reached the Godswood of the Red Keep. She was a Northerner, no doubt she would find peace with a weirwood tree close by. 

 "Lady Sansa, your brother and mother are well," he told her, knowing that the crashing of the waves beneath them would not carry their voices far. "But their hearts would break when they see what the Lannisters have done to you." 

 This time, her mask fell. Shattered into pieces as a silent tear surfaced in her left eye first, followed by the right. For whatever reason, she could no longer hold it together. If he was the man the Lannisters deemed would take her far, far away from her home, then she would not care if he could tell them anything if they could not reach him as well. "You've seen them, my lord?" she asked him. "Where... how?"

 "I fought by King Robb's side when he took Casterly Rock, princess," he whispered into her ear. Princess... no one ever called her princess before. "You are a Stark of Winterfell, Princess Sansa. Your brother is the King in the North. You are a Princess in every sense of the word." He had spoken the truth, and when she married him, she would be a princess twice over. 

 "How are they?" she asked him. 

 "They are well," Oberyn answered. "Your brother married a Volantene noblewoman by the name of Talisa Maegyr. His Queen is beautiful as she is wise." He made sure not to touch her back for fear of hurting her any further. "Your mother is hale and healthy." It was only then when Sansa actually understood what had transpired between Dorne and her brother. Then and there she told herself if marrying Oberyn would give her the freedom to live King's Landing and all its dark memories that it gave her, then she would gladly do it. Whatever his aims for the throne was, for coming to King's Landing, she would need to borrow his strength. 

 Knowing that there was no one else to see them, she buried herself in his chest, fisting a handful of his silken robes as he held her by her waist towards him. It was the first time she ever came so close to a man. She had dreamed of being held like this thousands of times before, but not in this... situation. "Who did this to you?" he asked her. "A lady as you should not have known such cruelty..." It was not poison that caused her lash marks to weep. It was a lack of care. 

 "Joffrey did it," she answered. "He thought to punish me for Robb's victories."

 Oberyn clenched his fists. That boy-king had gone too far. "Did he beat you, often?" he asked her. 

 "Yes," Sansa answered, her words almost failing her. No, she was not about to cry. She had gone past that. She could no longer care less why she was to be beaten. She no longer wished for Joffrey to stop. 

 "You will see no such cruelty from me," Oberyn said, holding her hand tight in his. "Sansa, I will never hurt you. I promise." 

 "Is it because you're now allies with Robb?" she asked. She was no fool. She knew how political marriages worked. Even when she had first come to King's Landing, when she thought herself to be the future queen of Westeros, she knew that her betrothal to Joffrey was a political union more than a love-match. She was just... excited that she would finally see the world greater than Winterfell and the North. Was it a lie that she told herself, for bringing her family to ruin because she wanted to be a princess? She would never know. 

 "Yes, and no," Oberyn replied truthfully. For whatever reason, he found himself completely entranced by her eyes. Those blue eyes so reminiscent of the summer skies, they saw everything. They saw evil, perceived danger and veiled her own fear. He felt his soul to be laid bare before her, naked as he was born, whenever he looked into her eyes, and he had barely even known her. "I lost my sister to Lannister cruelty, dear Princess. I cannot bear to see another fall into their hands." 

 With those words, he felt her lips against his. She was a brave one, this she-Wolf from the North. Drawing her deeper into his arms, he took control of the kiss and pressed her against the weirwood tree. She tasted sweet, yet tart at the same time, evident proof that sweet Sansa Stark was always more than met the eye. When the kiss had ended, she looked so shocked at herself that she turned away from him. "For... forgive me, my lord," she stammered. "I shouldn't have been so... forward." 

 "Oberyn, call me Oberyn, princess, as I will call you only 'Sansa' from now on," Oberyn chuckled. "We are to be married next week, are we not?"

* * *

 Perhaps the greatest shock that Sansa had was not the fact that she was going to be both a Dornish princess and the Princess of the North in a week. It was the fact that she had taken instantly to Oberyn's paramour, Ellaria Sand, like how she had taken to Margery Tyrell, despite her status as a bastard. Oberyn had told her that in Dorne, bastards were loved as true-born children. That there were no distinction in the treatment of any sort of children, because they were all born out of love.

 Growing up in Winterfell, Sansa had learned since a tender age that her mother did not tolerate Jon Snow's presence at all, despite the fact that her father wanted him raised together with the rest of her true-born children. She had overheard her mother saying that Jon Snow's presence in their home was a symbol of her father's betrayal to her, and she could not tolerate it. 

 Seeing Ellaria so loved by Oberyn made her guilty. She should have loved Jon as Arya had loved him. Even Robb, treated him like a brother. Seeing Ellaria walking so gracefully as she came forward to welcome Oberyn's betrothed into their lodgings in the Red Keep (they've since removed themselves from Littlefinger's pleasure house to avoid incurring Robb Stark's wrath) and her life, a wound in her mind was opened, a regret that she had repressed for far too long. 

 "Whatever is the matter, my love?" Ellaria asked when she found that Sansa could no longer look her in the eye. She was inconsolable by the time Ellaria embraced her. Oberyn just watched from the chaise opposite them, watching as Sansa rambled about her bastard brother on the Wall. 

 "I... I was never good to him," Sansa sobbed. "I should have... he's family..." 

 Oberyn watched his betrothed intently. She had suffered too much in this accursed place. It pained him evidently to watch her tremble and shake the moment she perceived that she was no longer any form of danger. He had seen her courage in action, felt the simmering rage within her pale skin that she had buried. That kind of courage was built upon suffering. It was built upon the suppression of fear and anger. But when she cried, she had cried because she had been unkind to her half-brother... It only showed him that he needed to get her out of King's Landing and to her family as soon as possible. That, or they needed to end the evil of the Lannisters quickly so that no one else would suffer as Sansa had under them. 

 "Shh... my love," Ellaria soothed her lover's betrothed. "Your brother Jon is on the Wall. He is safe from all the evil you and the rest of your siblings have suffered."  It was a comforting thought, and luckily it was comforting enough for Sansa. Slowly, her tears had run dry and she apologized profusely for ruining Ellaria's dress. 

 "I'm sorry," she apologized, blinking back more tears. "I'm just a stupid..." 

 Ellaria brought her hand to Sansa's cheek. Her skin was not only pale, but flawless and smooth. She could have been a Targaryen with such lovely skin, if not for her flaming red hair. "Sansa, love, you don't have to apologize for anything," Ellaria told her as Oberyn brought his arms around the two women. Ellaria knew that her lover was boiling in anger, too enraged to talk. "You are not at fault here." 

 "Trust me, Sansa, they will pay," Oberyn said after he had calmed down some, pressing a kiss to Sansa's temples. He made a silent promise to the Gods, whether or not they existed, that he would see his end of the Stark-Martell alliance upheld and more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you guys gush and coo over how romantic Sansa and Oberyn's first meeting has been, I hope that you understand that she's not fallen for either him or Ellaria yet. The reason why Sansa is acting like this is because she can no longer have her shields up any longer for the time being, and knowing that Oberyn is on Robb's side, Sansa put them down momentarily. 
> 
> On another note, Oberyn is very, very impressed by Sansa. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> PS: A few of you clever readers noticed that I had made a little slip up in the previous chapter where I wrote that Tyrion was married per his first conversations with Oberyn in S04E01. This was a blunder on my part and I didn't realize the error until it was too late. However, I've already corrected it. So for the record, Tyrion's not currently married to anyone now in this fic. Also, great thanks to Silberias for her shoutout on her latest update!


	7. The Northern Wolves

 She was not in the Red Keep, that was for sure. She was in another fortress. This one was gilded with gold from wall to wall. She had not been there before. She whimpered as she made a wrong turn, and whimpered again when she bumped onto a low table. Her head had hurt momentarily. It was this strange, new place. If she was there for longer, she wouldn't have bumped into things again. 

 The great hall glittered and glimmered in the afternoon sun. It was a thousand times more beautiful than Winterfell could ever be. But... there was no soul in that beauty. Then, she found a familiar human. A female with dark hair and dark eyes, dressed in a very revealing gown the color of mustard. 

 "What are you doing here?" the woman asked her. "Come, let's get you to your master." 

 Her... master? She had no master. She was not a slave. But, the woman handed her a handful of dried jerky as a treat, so she couldn't refuse her. So, she followed the woman and they went up three flights of stairs together. She rather liked the woman. She would scratch her between her ears and she always liked it when people scratched her there. 

 "Lady Catelyn, Your Grace," the woman called, knocking at the door. "I have a message from my father." 

 "Oh, come in, Lady Nym." 

 She... she was looking at her mother. "Mother!" she called, but Catelyn did not heed her. All she got was a warm pat on her head. "Mother!" she called again but there was no response. 

 Then, she saw Robb. He wasn't wearing any armor, but a thin shirt and breeches. There was a hoe in his hands  while his sword was on a table. "Robb!" she called towards him, but still, Robb only scratched her between her ears and paid no heed to her after. 

 "Why isn't anyone listening to me?" she demanded. 

 "What does your father say, Lady Nym?" Robb asked the woman. 

 "He's found your sister, Princess Sansa," she reported. 

 It made no sense. She was right there with them! "It's me! I'm Sansa!" she exclaimed, only to be distracted by yet another strange face. This other female had large brown eyes, a slightly dark complexion and beautiful long, dark hair. 

 "Shh, little one," she cooed at her. "Robb is having some news brought to him." 

 "Did the Lannisters suspect anything?" Robb asked the female named Lady Nym. 

 "No, they did not. They want them wedded in a week." 

 "Thank you, Lady Nym, it would be all." 

 She didn't understand. Why isn't anyone paying attention to her? She'd just come back to her family!

 "Sansa!" she heard other voices call her though. 

 "Sansa!" the voices started getting louder.

 "SANSA!"

* * *

 Oberyn and Ellaria both heaved sighs of relief when Sansa finally stirred. She had collapsed after much crying, and when they laid her onto the nearest chaise so she could rest, Ellaria discovered that something was wrong. Her eyes were wide open, but they were so white that they looked like the clouds of summer were contained in them. They tried calling to her, but she seemed to be unresponsive. They had never seen anything like it before, and Ellaria was sure that Oberyn would have rushed out of their chambers to get a Maester to help. 

 Luckily, the blue of her eyes returned and she woke as quickly as she had fallen into that strange, trance-like state. "You scared us all, my love," Ellaria said, embracing her, knowing that her experience must have been as shocking to her as it was for them. 

 "I... I saw my mother and brother," she stammered in confusion. "I saw this woman they called 'Lady Nym' and Robb's Queen, but no one cared about me. They only scratched my ears and pet me..." Her jaw fell slack upon the realization of what she had just done. "No... it's impossible..." 

 Ellaria guessed that Oberyn might have some knowledge about what was happening to Sansa. "You warged into your brother's direwolf," Oberyn revealed. "My, my, aren't you an intriguing little one. The Maesters at Oldtown thought that skinchangers are extinct since the Andals drove the Children of the Forest into extinction." 

 "It can't be true," Sansa exclaimed. "No one's ever been able to for thousands and thousands of years!" 

 "But yet here you are, Sansa. You saw your family and my daughter Nymeria at Casterly Rock through the eyes of Grey Wind," Oberyn explained. "If I am not mistaken your family still has the blood of the First Men in you. After all, Winterfell was never conquered until only recently..." 

 "No one else can know of this," Sansa pleaded to them both. "Please..." If one day either Cersei or Joffrey would have passed by her while she was warging, who was to say that they would not put a sword through her and be done with it? 

 "Your secret is safe with us," Ellaria soothed. "We won't tell anyone else. We promise." 

 "Come, Sansa, I will bring you back to your chambers," Oberyn offered, giving her his arm. "Tomorrow, we should discuss on a change of your surroundings in this blasted Red Keep." He had no desire to see Sansa at the hands of her captors, trapped by unseen walls and spikes. He would see her free. Sansa nodded and quietly said good-bye to Ellaria before they left. "Would you like to know more about your brother's Queen?" he asked her. 

 Sansa's expression brightened slightly. "Yes, please," she returned. Ever courteous she was, the perfect lady. "She's beautiful, but... a bit sad when I saw her." 

 "Apparently, your new sister-in-law was a healer, and she gave King Robb a good dressing-down for bringing war to what seemed to be a peaceful region. Of course, being a Volantene, she wouldn't know the struggles here in Westeros. Your brother allowed her to work in his army as a healer and they fell in love. It's a pretty good story," Oberyn continued. "However, he did break a marriage contract with Walder Frey, I believe." 

 Sansa sighed. Her brother was exactly like her father in manner, and she deduced that Robb must have been utterly in love to have broken said contract with the Freys. "That can't be good for strategy," she commented. "What if Robb one day needs to go back up North and the Frey's wouldn't them cross?"

 Oberyn raised an eyebrow. No one ever told him that Sansa had an eye for strategy. He decided not to press the question, for he believed that she would reveal all in time. "I'm sure that your brother will be able to keep himself out of certain messes," he reassured her, patting her hand with his. After that, they walked in silence. Since passing the throne room and into the wing where Sansa had been housed in, they were entering Lannister territory, where there were many spies abound. 

 She had been under their torment for so long that her silence was only natural. Even in his company, her expression was now blank, and stone-cold. Only her eyes, only her eyes showed any sign of her individuality, and he could see that they contained much more than a girl could ever have. There was a mixture of hatred, anger with a twinge of guilt and regret that only he could understand. He wondered what would be the Starks' reaction would be when they got her back. Would they even recognize her? Could they have understood all that she had been through?

 "Thank you so much for today," Sansa thanked him when they arrived at her chambers. "I... wouldn't have expected to..." She did not know what words she could say to thank him because she did not know what came over her. She barely knew them, but because Dorne was now in alliance with her brother, she felt that she could at least drop her guard. If anything happened to her, they would have to answer to Robb. 

 "Sansa, believe me when I say that I will do everything in my power to protect you henceforth," Oberyn swore to her, gently backing her towards her door, fixing his outstretched arm onto the door so that she could not escape him. Let the Lannisters see them, his actions declared wordlessly. He wanted them to see her like this, see the woman that she actually was, fierce and most definitely plotting their destruction. 

 Sansa had hoped that he said those words because of his alliance with Robb. She still did not know the specifics of said alliance, but she knew that Oberyn was her only way out from King's Landing now. Littlefinger had left for the Vale and the Tyrells were now in league with the Lannisters. He was her only escape. She had to trust him, even though she feared to do it, not because she feared that he would betray her, but she feared that it would plummet her into situations that she could not control. She did not know if she was ready to face such... uncertainty. 

 Oberyn bent close to kiss her again. This time, she was bolder, and more receptive to him. He felt her hook her arms around his neck as he gently sucked on her lower lip, and found out that she smelt of lavender. The she-Wolf was full of surprises, he mused to himself and pressed her deeper into him. A soft moan came from her as a result of their closeness and he thrust his tongue through her parted lips, giving a taste of only what was to come. 

 All of a sudden, her blue eyes shot open and she pulled back. Respecting her decision, he lifted both hands up to signal that he would not continue further. "I'm sorry, I..." 

 "There is no need to apologize," he told her, kissing her knuckles instead. "We have all the time in the world." 

 At least, he was able to make her smile, even just a little. "I'll see you tomorrow then," she almost whispered and retreated into her chambers. 

* * *

 Roose Bolton could not believe his luck. No one could have expected for Dorne to show up with the premise of an alliance, and no one would have expected Robb to take a gamble with the Dornishmen. Dornishmen were known to have kept a grudge, and it seemed that his King had forgotten that it was his aunt, Lyanna Stark that caused Rhaegar Targaryen to leave Princess Elia Martell, which started Robert's Rebellion in the first place. If he were a Stark, he would not have entered such a dangerous alliance, particularly when they could turn on them at any time. 

 The world has gone to dust, he cursed internally. Even when Robb had agreed to sit a Targaryen princess halfway across the known world on the Iron Throne, his bannermen still stuck with him. He had thought that such an ill-conceived notion would not have sat well on the Northern lords, but as it turned out, they were just as foolish as their young king was. 

 What made him even more uneasy was how easily Robb had trusted the two oldest Sand Snakes. After they had taken Casterly Rock, Obara was charged with training  _all_ the soldiers, Northmen and Dornishmen alike, and Robb had taken to truly unifying the army. He no longer used his own banners, nor the banners of his bannermen. Only a grey banner. A grey banner to signify the North. Strangely enough, the soldiers were taking greatly to this new strategem, which made him even more uneasy. No, it wasn't that Robb trusted the Sand Snakes above all, he was merely using them as a starting point. Karstark's insolence had stirred something in Robb that prompted this change. The arrival of the Dornish alliance precipitated it, and their last victory cemented it. 

 Robb Stark was more in control of his army than he ever was when he set out from Winterfell.

 He knew that he had to run. He had to run because the course that the Young Wolf was taking was not in line with his plans. In order to secure Casterly Rock, Robb would rather plant and sow with the smallfolk than to move a single bit. Yes, he had sent his bastard Ramsay back to Winterfell to take it back from the Ironborn, but he had no intention of returning Winterfell to the Starks. He had thought that with no options left, Robb would have been forced to ask for the Frey's help to take Casterly Rock. He himself had promised marriage to a Frey girl worth her weight in silver, but he knew that he had to survive to claim such a rich gift from the Freys, and that their end of the bargain had to be upheld. He had thought that if he was able to serve Robb Stark on a silver platter with the Freys to the Lannisters, then his hold on the North would be certain. He could not be more wrong. 

 He had written a hasty message by raven to Ramsay. Ramsay was to pull all his men back to the Dreadfort and make it look like nothing had happened. They had to be able to pin the blame on the Ironborn if he was to survive this. He was sure that Ramsay would not act unless he knew that those orders that he himself had issued, and he would see them done. He would slip out in the night and by the time they had found him to be gone, it would be too late for them to do anything. 

 Hastily, he made his way to the stables and selected his horse, but just as he was about to ride out, he was stopped by a loud, low growl and yellow eyes. It was Grey Wind. 

 "Taking a night ride, Lord Bolton?" Robb asked him, coming out from one of the stalls, his arms crossed. By his side were Brynden Tully as well as the two Sand Snakes with them. 

 "Yes, Your Grace," Bolton replied. "After a whole day of tending to the fields, it does one good to get the stench of manure out..." Before he could speak any further, Nymeria cracked her whip, which landed around his wrist and pulled him down. "Your Grace, I assure you..." 

 Robb's eyes were still trained upon him. "We intercepted a raven from the Twins addressed to you. Would you like me to read what it says?" Robb asked. Brynden Tully handed him the message and he read aloud, "'When is the wolf-pup coming? The Lannisters are impatient. They'll want his head before they'll give us what we want.' Lord Bolton, I'm very disappointed to see that you're the one behind all this." 

 "You just got lucky," Bolton spat. "If Oberyn Martell hadn't come up and offered a Dornish alliance..." 

 "It is because of the Dornish alliance that you were discovered, Lord Bolton," Robb replied. "If I hadn't tasked Lady Nym with flushing out all of the Rock, she wouldn't have discovered a separate rookery near the base, with a raven carrying a new message for you from the Freys." 

 Bolton had nothing left to say. "So, you're going to execute me like you did Karstark?" he asked Robb. 

 "I have a better idea," Robb replied. "Chain him and lock him up. We'll decide his fate come morning." 

 "You're not going to kill him on the spot?" Obara asked Robb. "What if he escapes?"

 "I'll have Grey Wind tethered in front of his cell," Robb suggested. "Let's see if he'll dare to escape then." 

 When dawn came, Robb had his bannermen haul Roose Bolton before the Northern lords in the Great Hall of Casterly Rock. Even in chains, his expression was unreadable. He did not smile nor snarl, nor did he thrash and throw himself around like Rickard Karstark. He was composed, not because he held himself with dignity, no. He was composed because he felt no emotion. He was Lord of the Dreadfort, after all. 

 "Lord Roose Bolton, you are accused of treason for sacking Winterfell and conspiring with the Freys and Lannisters to kill your King," Brynden Tully proclaimed. "You are hereby stripped of your titles and lands and all its incomes. Your bastard, Ramsay Snow will be named as an enemy of the North and will killed on sight." There was a loud chorus of cries by the lords of the North, including cries to have him hung or beheaded. However, Robb did not seem as enthusiastic as he was when he beheaded Rickard Karstark. His face as was blank as Bolton's. 

 "Roose Bolton will lead our next charge against the Lannisters," Robb declared. "He march a hundred feet before our hosts, bearing the Northern banner and only the banner." The Lannisters had a habit of using archers first to determine their range and whether the wind favored them. He would most likely the first to die then. If a volley of arrows could not kill him, then the charge of Lannister cavalrymen will.  If even that could not kill him, then he would slip through the chaos of battle and end the traitor's life himself if need be. "Before then, he will manure the fields from sunrise till sundown." 

 Robb had learned his lesson. He would not let an errant Lord have the ease of instant death nor would he relinquish command of their men at their deaths. The Boltons and the Starks had a long-running history of rivalry and he was not about to stir any bickering amongst themselves. Once Bolton was taken away to the fields, Robb turned towards Brynden Tully. "Can we afford to change out the uniforms of all our men?" he asked the Blackfish. 

 "With so much Lannister gold, you can," the Blackfish replied. "What sort of uniforms do you have in mind?"

 "Plain ones," Robb replied. "We have to learn from what the Martells had done with the spearmen they gave us: efficient, but without anything to set them apart from one another. I will also have the men reshuffled. They will march under only one banner." 

 "What about the lords?" Catelyn asked. "You can't just take command from them away!" 

 "I know how many men each lord commands, mother," Robb replied. "I will have them command the same number of men, not just their own. If we're going to win this war, we can't have any more differences between ourselves. We have to fight as one and die as one." 

 Only with a unified army can they win the war. Only with a unified army can they ever have hope to survive. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys wanted Roose Bolton subdued, and there he is, shoveling shit until the next attack. *Cackles evilly* I actually have a lot of stock in him, so I don't think that this will be the last that we'll see of him. 
> 
> Meanwhile, what do you think of Sansa being a warg? Oh and that kiss with Oberyn. mmmm. *winks*
> 
> Yes, Robb is sort-of modernizing his armies, eh... somewhat. 
> 
> Enjoy!


	8. The Change

 "He wants you," Shae told Sansa matter-of-factly. She had caught a glimpse of Oberyn when she opened the door for Sansa. She knew that look. She had seen that look on Littlefinger whenever he was with her as well, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. 

 "No, he doesn't want me," Sansa fired back calmly as Shae reapplied the salve Varys gave her on her back. Luckily for her, they seemed to be slightly better from the day before. "He has a beautiful paramour who is the mother of four of his daughters." 

 "What's a paramour?"

 "She's his lover," Sansa explained. "But... she's like his wife as well, I guess... I don't know how to explain it." 

 Ever pragmatic, Shae came up with the perfect conclusion. "So, he has a woman to fu... bed on the side while you're to be his wife." She would always speak openly with Sansa, but at times, she would forget that Sansa was a lady through and through and not use any manner of crude language. 

 "No, he loves her," Sansa rebutted. She was no fool. When Oberyn presented Ellaria to her, he had a twinkle of pride in his eyes. She had seen it in her parents' eyes. That kind of expression could only come from a relationship that has weathered many storms. 

 "And you're alright with that?" Shae asked her. Many high-born ladies would not tolerate the notion that their husbands having other women, and would scheme and plot to remove any competition from them. That would be a smart thing to do, anyways. 

 "She's a lovely person," Sansa reasoned, remembering how tightly Ellaria had embraced her upon their introduction. She remembered how concerned Ellaria was when she had come out of her trance when she was warging as Grey Wind. "If I'm to be married to Oberyn, I'll have to accept that Ellaria's here to stay. I can't just... declare war with her. It wouldn't work that way." 

 However, Shae had one more question in her mind. "Do you like women then?" she asked. 

 "What does that have to do with anything?"

 Oh, there was still so much that Sansa did not know of the world. Sighing, Shae met her eyes with Sansa's and said, "You'll know when the time comes, my lady." Sansa could have sworn that the tone of Shae's voice was much alike that of an elder sister teaching an ignorant younger one. "The Queen's maids came by this afternoon, they said that you'll be moved to rooms near your prince by tomorrow morning." 

 "Does he know that I'm moving there?" Sansa asked. Oberyn gave no indication that he did, though. However, she did not expect that Cersei Lannister would give her up to easily. 

 "We'll have to see then," Shae replied, fanning Sansa's back with her hand to help the salve dry faster. 

* * *

 Ellaria and Oberyn were the first to enter Sansa's rooms that morning. They hadn't particularly forced their way in, but Shae was not too willing to let them in. They did not begrudge her for it, for she was doing her duty as Sansa's handmaiden, after all. Her rooms were simple, but elegantly decorated. Sansa was hidden behind a screen, but Shae silently allowed them to go behind it. They were to be the closest people to her in only a few day's time. She might as well let them. 

 Sansa was sleeping on her stomach, her nightdress worn backwards with the bodice unlaced. It was done to ensure that her whip-wounds could breathe even if she slept in the night. "Such cruelty..." Ellaria gasped. She did not notice Sansa's wounds the previous day, but it was evident that Oberyn did. He only looked at those wounds in anger, soothed only by Ellaria's gentle grasp of his arm. 

 "How often does the King beat her?" Oberyn asked Shae. 

 "Often enough, my lord." Shae replied. 

 "Why didn't you call for a maester?" Ellaria demanded softly, careful not to wake Sansa up. The Gods knew that she needed her rest. 

 "Lady Sansa did not want the Grand Maester near her, my lady," Shae answered, and continued in a lower, softer voice, "He is a confirmed spy for the Queen and the Lord Hand." 

 Oberyn took in a sharp intake of breath, but said nothing further. Sansa was politically astute to a fault, although by avoiding medical attention, she would have risked her life more than those around her had endangered her. Then, he noticed a small jar at the bedside table and picked it up. He opened the lid and smelled its contents before turning towards Shae again. "Who gave this to you?" he asked. 

 "Lord Varys, my lord. He said that the whores used something like this in Littlefinger's brothel." 

 Varys... he had been an accomplice in the plots to bring the Targaryens back to the Iron Throne ever since Robert Baratheon ascended to it. Where others might fear him for his extensive network of spies, and his less-than stable allegiances, one would have taken him as only one of the many villains plotting and scheming in the capital. At least, Varys was one of the more kind-hearted of the villains plotting and scheming in the capital. 

 Ellaria nodded and shooed Oberyn to a chair behind the screen while Shae started to pack Sansa's things. "It's time to wake up, my love," Ellaria cooed into Sansa's ear. It turned out that she was quite easy to wake. It must be from the many years of living a disciplined life of a Northern lady. 

 "What time is it?" Sansa asked, rubbing her eyes. 

 "Early enough," Ellaria replied with a smile. "Apparently the Queen wants you out of her sight as soon as possible, and we're here to help you move." 

 "Thank you," Sansa said, trying hard to stifle a yawn. She then signaled Shae to help her to dress, but she sensed that Ellaria was smiling rather sneakily and when Shae came behind the screen with a new dress that was in the colour between grey and lavender, she almost squeaked in excitement. "Thank you!" she exclaimed. It was made in the Dornish style. The neckline was cut low, bringing attention to the curve of her cleavage, but not as low as that of Ellaria's, to accommodate to her Northern sensibilities, while the skirts were flowing and light. 

 Oberyn could not help but smile when he saw Sansa emerge from behind the screen in her new dress. "Beautiful," he praised, causing her to blush slightly. "You will never again have to forgo the colors of your family," he whispered into her ear. She thanked him profusely before she and Ellaria began shuffling all over the chamber to pack. Ellaria had never seen such a great amount of furs in her lifetime, seeing that Sansa was from the North. They now served as memories of her life in Winterfell. 

 "You've grown much since you've come here, my love," Ellaria observed as Shae sorted out some of Sansa's old dresses that she couldn't fit into any more. They were certainly not made of grand materials, but were made with enough skill to make the wearer look effortlessly elegant. Any self-respecting woman would take a single look at them and know that they were made by superior hands. "Who made these for you?"

 "I did," Sansa said. She was always proud of being able to make her own dresses. It was a skill that she had learned from her mother since she was a young girl. During her days in the capital, dress-making was one of the ways she used to drown herself in silence, keeping everything that happened around her at bay. Ellaria only smiled wider, and hugged her. 

 "Dornish gowns are made differently," Ellaria explained. "The Dornish sun burns you even in winter..." 

 Oberyn watched as his paramour and future wife talked about women's fashion while packing, heaving a sigh of relief that Sansa had taken to Ellaria so easily. He did not expect it of her, but then again, there were many things in Sansa that he could never have imagined. "My dears, I would appreciate it if you could be slightly faster. Lady Olenna Tyrell has invited us for tea in the gardens this afternoon." 

* * *

 Margery Tyrell was ecstatic to see Sansa walking tall, her head held high with Oberyn and Ellaria. Olenna Tyrell found the Dornish practice of having paramours absolutely fascinating and was engrossed in deep conversation with Ellaria the moment she arrived. 

 "What a change it has been!" Margery exclaimed, holding Sansa's hands in hers. "Who would've ever imagined that you'd be a bride before me?" Her words were carefully chosen, of course, but still, they contained a joy that only a true friend could have. They had been friends because of their similar positions. Sansa had been Joffrey's intended even after her father was executed, while Margery had arrived in King's Landing, freshly widowed by Renly Baratheon, ready to snag the King from any competition. Sansa had freely relinquished her position to Margery, and they had bonded after Olenna convinced her to give her information about Joffrey's personality. 

 The Tyrells were kindly hosts. After tea, Margery graciously led Sansa and Margery through the gardens, showing them the improvements that the Tyrells had made there since unofficially claiming the gardens as their "base" in the Red Keep. Together, they gossiped and cooed over the beautiful flowers and plants while Oberyn was finally left alone with Olenna. 

 "Do you have any news from the Westerlands?" Olenna asked Oberyn in a hushed tone. 

 "My daughters said that Roose Bolton was discovered trying to betray Robb Stark to his enemies," Oberyn replied. "The Young Wolf stripped him of his lands and titles and now he is shoveling shit in the fields that they had taken." 

 Olenna harrumphed and shook her head. "That'll put an end to the centuries of bad blood between the Boltons and the Starks," she commented. "Whatever you Martells offered him, he sure is taking all of it in eagerly." 

 "We share a common vengeance, Lady Olenna," Oberyn replied. "I have no doubts that my betrothed would like to see every last one of those Lannisters in their grave as my family does." 

 "Cutting off Ned Stark's head was the most foolish thing that anyone can do," Olenna muttered. "But come now, what possessed you and your brother to want to reach out to the Starks? Wasn't Lyanna Stark that caused the start of the war?" Like her granddaughter, the Queen of Thorns was also cleverly cautious with what was said to Oberyn, or all others for the matter. 

 "I told you, we share a common vengeance," Oberyn replied. Relations between the Tyrells and the Martells were mutually cool. Dorne did not pry into the matters of Highgarden, while Highgarden did not probe into Dorne's affairs. When the tables were turned, they would have mutual interests in one another's activities. The Tyrells only knew about the alliance between Dorne and the North because Oberyn had tasked Varys to give the news to Sansa, and the Spider passed it onto Lady Olenna, who seemed benign enough not to arouse suspicion.

 Olenna understood then that there was nothing more that Oberyn wished to tell her. "She was shivering and stammering the first time I saw her at court, you know," she continued, gesturing her chin towards Sansa. "Frightened little thing she was. Beaten by the King more times than one should think possible... But one day, something in her raged. It was as if she couldn't take the malice any more, and used it as a mirror. Those Tully eyes of hers stared the King and his Kingsguard down, along with Cersei and the rest of them as though she vowed to kill them all in their sleep! Those foolish lions thought that she was afraid of them!" 

 "Her family still thinks her to be the frightened little girl, trapped without her family in the capital," Oberyn added. "They want her out of here as fast as I can manage it." 

 "We both know that it will take longer than simply marrying the girl to get her out of King's Landing without suspicion," Olenna returned. "But at the rate of her brother's progress..." 

 "Nothing's for sure, my lady," Oberyn said. "In any case, Robb Stark is becoming more of a King and less a general with each passing day. Things will become... very interesting, to say the least." 

 This, Olenna could agree with. "Yes indeed," she replied. "This girl is the key to the North, Prince Oberyn. Do you think that the Lannisters will relinquish her to you so easily?"

 "So long as her brother sits upon Casterly Rock, they'll have to do whatever is necessary to undermine him," he answered. "Marrying her to Dorne brings her as far from her family as possible. They cannot let go of an opportunity like this." However, Dorne's success in deceiving the Lannisters rode on the cooperation of the Tyrells, and so far, they were worthy allies. It had been made abundantly clear that the Tyrells did not care who sat upon the Iron Throne. All they wanted was to have as much political power as they could. Centuries of being the richest family in Westeros was not enough. They now wanted the influence along with the wealth. Thankfully enough, they did not have qualms as to whoever they ran in or made enemies with. It made things easier for everyone. 

 All of a sudden, a crack of thunder could be heard. Stormclouds were gathered over King's Landing. "There, an omen from the Gods if you'll have one," Olenna said. Soon enough, Ellaria, Margery and Sansa came running into the pavilion where they were, pelted by giant raindrops. "Look at you poor dears, you're soaked through!" 

 Ellaria only smiled politely while Sansa and Margery giggled with one another. Oberyn just sat there, enjoying the view. There was nothing more pleasing to a man's eye than women clad in wet silks, and there were three of the greatest beauties in the Seven Kingdoms before him. 

* * *

 It did not take long for Sansa to realize that Dornish dinners were akin to grand feasts in the North. Although the fare was not too sumptuous, the wine was kept flowing. She had never had much wine to begin with, but at Ellaria's encouragement, she began to take a sip or two from her cup. It took a lot of getting used to, but she gathered that she would be drinking as freely as the others were in no time. 

 "Lady Sansa, you must imagine our shock when Prince Oberyn agreed with our Prince Doran that he must marry you for Dorne!" one of the ladies exclaimed. Of course, none of the Dornishmen would betray themselves to anyone in the capital, but still, good news must be celebrated. "Now, Ellaria can spend her time raising her daughters and not having to fuss over our difficult prince!" 

 "Dear lady," Oberyn retorted. "I believe that it was you that led us children sneaking away from the Maester's schoolroom when we were children. I assure you, that I am not the difficult one here." 

 Said lady chuckled even louder, and Sansa could not stop herself from smiling. "My sister Arya used to skip her classes to shoot arrows," Sansa related gaily. It was a great challenge having to bring Arya up in a conversation such as this, but she knew that in order to move forward, she had to stop the past from hurting her. "In the end, she got better than our younger brother Bran. Father was pleased although it wasn't very ladylike." 

 A knight, Deamon Sand offered, "My lady, women in Dorne are trained in the martial arts if they so wished. Perhaps our prince should teach you how to handle the spear?"

 Oberyn clicked his tongue. "Peace, Ser Deamon," he said. "Sansa here is a properly lady of the North. She's not used to..." 

 "Actually, I'd love to learn," Sansa said, looking very much interested in the prospect. "If... my betrothed permits it, of course." 

 Ellaria actually turned to look pointedly at Oberyn, imitating Sansa's expression. As a rule, he had ensured that all of his daughters were trained to fight. In fact, it was the most basic of their abilities. The Sand Snakes, especially the older ones could do more than that. Obara could command armies, Nymeria was a brilliant strategist, while Tyene was an expert in poisons like her father. Even her youngest daughters had begun their training, even with their father abroad on affairs of state. 

 "If my betrothed is willing to learn, why not?" Oberyn returned, kissing the back of Sansa's hand for added effect. In fact, it was a very, very good idea indeed. They did not know where their paths would bring them, nor would they know what the next day would bring. Their days would most likely be filled with blood and battle, and Oberyn would be put at ease if Sansa knew how to defend herself. It would no doubt put a massive frown on Robb's face, and  _that_ was an expression that he greatly wished to see. "I will train you myself, dear one, when we can." 

 A round of applause rang through and Sansa could not help but melt into his resulting embrace. Seconds later, she bobbed her head up from his shoulder and said, "But I... think that I'd be too clumsy with a spear..." 

 "I will teach you to handle any weapon that you wish to learn," Oberyn returned. He was holding her hand tight in his, and he added, in a soft whisper to only her ears, "No one will ever harm you then." 

 Sansa could see from his eyes that he meant those words. She could hear from his tone of voice that he was sincere. She also knew that if they spoke any more of the matter, she would cry tears of gratitude, and she didn't want that to happen. Instead, she let her body loose and did as it wanted, and she found herself leaning her head on his shoulders again whilst the Dornish continued making merry deep into the night. 

 She decided for herself that she rather enjoyed the company of Oberyn's countrymen. They spoke freely and were without pretense, man and woman alike. They also held a great respect for everyone, regardless of their status. In the eyes of the court, she was the daughter and sister of traitors, while to them, she was soon to be their princess, a person to be cherished because their prince did. She told herself that it was because of the love of his people for him that she decided that she could place her trust in Oberyn. Her father's people loved him too, and it was the same love that she saw in the Dornishmen for Oberyn. 

 It was also then when she decided that there were really little to no differences between Wolves and Vipers after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is all Sansa. We also get a glimpse between Grandma Tyrell and Oberyn, and also how well the Dornish are receiving their future princess. 
> 
> If you're wondering about Robb, he's still skulking in Casterly Rock, trying to figure out how to fight the war henceforth. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> P.S: If you are concerned of Sansa's willingness to learn how to fight, please be assured that I have utterly no intention to make her a badass fighting machine. She won't even learn how to fight THAT quickly. Please read my response to Ashley's comment to find out more about the issue.


	9. Ceremony

 Talisa had never felt so out of place in her life before. She knew that coming over to Westeros, to live in a world where slavery did not exist would have its price. The culture of Westeros was nothing familiar to her. There was nothing that she recognized, and nothing that she knew. She was a mere healer serving in an army (she actually didn't really care which army she served in) for an honest wage and now, she was the Queen in the North. 

  She was used to a courtly life. Her grandfather was one of the Volantene Triachs, after all. She knew precisely what words to say to which person at court, and she knew that with enough time, Westerosi politics would come naturally to her. However, she was not used to such a martial life. When her husband was to formally inspect his "newly reformed army", she was supposed to be riding on a horse by herself (they rode elephants in Volantis). Not only that, she was presented with a costume of full plated armor, made to her dimensions, complete with a skirt made entirely of mail for the ceremony. 

 If she were any other woman, she would have asked for a beautiful gown and permission to ride behind her King on the same horse. Sadly, Talisa Stark (formerly Maegyr) was not any other woman. She was a Volantene noblewoman, which meant that she had to earn the love of her husband's people even more than if she were a Westerosi noblewoman not born of the North. They knew that she was a tough healer, and she would have to show her mettle as a gracious Queen to their King for them to love her. 

  "You look like a fish out of water," Obara teased her in High Valyrian once she had suited up in her armor. Neither Obara nor Nymeria wore plate armor, opting for their usual Dornish armor. The Dornishmen dealt often with those in Essos, where Valyrian was still spoken, which was why the Sand Snakes would often converse with Talisa in her native language. 

  "I would think that they would rather me dress in wolf-pelts and be done with it," Talisa replied in the same manner and language. "My husband's people are strange to me, yet, I must strive to understand them if I am to be truly Queen." 

  Nymeria gave Talisa a sweet smile, helping her adjust her armor. "Don't worry, Your Grace, you will go out there and you will show them that you are the Queen, not them," she offered. "They will love you for it." 

  Quickly, the Sand Snakes helped to Talisa to style her hair in a manner that would not obstruct her view should the wind blow. They were warrior-women, Talisa mused to herself as they wordlessly helped her. They would know how a woman should look like upon the battlefield. In the end, her hairstyle was that of a low bun with several braids that ended where the bun began. For added flair, Nymeria, who was the more feminine of the two, stuck white flowers into the braids. 

  "Northmen do not trust ostentatiousness," Nymeria explained. "Flowers would do better than jewels." 

 It would seem that the Sand Snakes were right. Robb was completely taken by his wife's beauty, despite the armor, which made her move in an awkward manner. "You look beautiful!" he praised and wanted to kiss her until he remembered that the Sand Snakes were still in their company. "Oh... sorry, my ladies." 

  "We'll be waiting outside then, Your Grace," Obara proclaimed, and left the room with Nymeria to give the King and Queen some privacy. If Robb had guessed right, Obara had the audacity to roll her eyes. He would let such insolence slide, he mused. He was in a good mood because Talisa had never seemed more beautiful to his eyes. 

  "You should dress in plate armor often," he said, words to which she slightly pouted. 

  "My mother used to scare me with stories of you Westerosi warriors," Talisa told her husband. "She said that you wore heavy plated armors on horses and they would catch us from our beds if we were not careful. Now, look at me, I'm a Queen of the North in Westeros and I'm wearing the same armor." 

  Robb chuckled at her story. He knew that people in Essos did not use heavy armor like they did in Westeros. Like  in Dorne, the sun was hot in Essos and knights would have cooked in their armor if they wore steel plates to battle. However, he applauded his wife's enthusiasm. "They will love you," he reassured her. "Mother doesn't like to admit it, but you're starting to grow on her too." 

  Talisa remembered how coldly Catelyn had treated her in the early days of her marriage towards Robb, but now her mother-in-law was fairly lukewarm to her. It was a start, she supposed. "So, if I impress your men today, I'll impress your mother?" she asked him. 

  "Let's not go too far today," he replied, ushering her out of their room. "Take it easy, one step at a time." 

* * *

 

  It was a magnificent sight. In the open fields just beneath Casterly Rock, next to the port-town of Lannisport, the King in the North held a formal inspection of his troops with his Queen. It was a show. It was a show for all to see that he was in control of his army and no one could take it from him. It was a show, not only to the unseated Lannisters, who kept their lives and their freedom, although they were skulking in their seats as they watched the display of Northern soldiers, all of them in their newly-made steel armor, paid for with Lannister coin. The rest of the army were lightly armored spearmen, wearing helms with full visors. 

  This new army of the North prided itself in being uniformed. There were no separate banners, sigils nor colors. They were united only with a single banner, a plain, grey one, bordered with red. No one, even the King had any special motifs. All twenty thousand of them were united under a single cause and a single purpose. 

  The drums were sounded. Their beat slow and steady. Together, the King in the North and his Queen rode through the ranks of their army that stood at attention. Each of them battle-ready, each of them well-rested and hopefully well-fed. They would be ready to march whenever the order was given. 

  Talisa tried hard to stay on her horse. Usually, she rode well, but she was not used to riding with steel armor on. It not only made her heavier but also more slippery. She could feel the heat of the sun upon her skin, even though the sun had been nothing but a balmy kiss when she was in her normal clothing. All eyes were on her, and she knew it. All she needed to do was to stay on her horse. 

  Robb, on the other hand, knew that in order to continue fighting, he had to placate his bannermen first. If he lost them, then he would have lost his strength. He knew that he had to be seen to take care of their interests, and also he had to mold their interests to his. He had learned enough from that episode with Rickard Karstark, he was not going to have a repeat of it again. 

  When the formal inspection was done and Talisa was safely off her horse and shuffled into the podium to stand next to his mother, he began his speech. "This day marks the day of the rebirth of the Army of the North!" he proclaimed to thunderous applause. "Let us all remember that we set out from our homes with united goals. We have come so far south to have revenge on King Joffrey for killing my father and to tell him that he can take his other Six Kingdoms. The North will rule its own!" 

  The Northern soldiers all cheered, while the Dornish ones merely watched. 

  "As a token of my appreciation to my loyal bannermen and our gracious friends, I will now announce the new ranks and orders of the army. May all of us serve together in peace and glory!" 

  To those that looked upon the ceremony, it had looked like a grand affair where lords who provided great service were rewarded with greater command of men. These lords looked very pleased with themselves, but the fact of the matter was that what Robb had done was merely moved the men around. He separated his bannermen's men from them, and gave them new men to command. It was the same for every other lord under his wing. Their numbers only seemed inflated because they had one less commander. With Roose Bolton gone, the average number of soldier one of his lords commanded had increased by at least two hundred. Such a move not only made them happier, it also made them seem more important. Even Obara and Nymeria were not exempt from the ceremony. They were each given command of 5000 spearmen for their "excellent services rendered". 

  When the ceremony had ended, Robb looked towards the stands where the lords of the Westerlands were seated. They were still talking amongst themselves, whispering, perhaps scheming and plotting. It was then when he knew that he had achieved his goal. He would have them see that the Northern Army was more than a ragtag squad of soldiers with only luck on their side. He would show them that they had true mettle in them, and that at in any moment's notice, he would overcome those who thought to oppose or undermine him. 

* * *

 There was little pomp or ceremony, even though Sansa and Oberyn's wedding was held in the Great Sept of Baelor. The Great Sept was closed for the day, admitting only Sansa's Lannister captors and Oberyn's Dornish retinue. Ellaria had chosen a gown of coral for her, cut in yet another Dornish style. The neckline was plunging (Sansa thought that it reached the same levels of what Margery had preferred), the fabric soft but dense at the bottom of the skirts. There were leather accents on the neckline that crossed at her back, ending at her waist. The shoulders of her gown were filigreed, with the motifs direwolf facing the Martell's  sigil of the sun pierced by a spear. Gasps and sighs were abound when she walked from the Red Keep to the Great Sept. They had never seen Sansa in this light before, her hair worn relatively free and curled, in a daring gown that no one had seen her in before, her head held high. 

  Sansa could see how Cersei had scowled the moment she walked into the Great Sept, she no longer cared for what Cersei thought. She could see Margery almost in tears, whether they were real or not, she could not discern. She saw Joffrey standing at the door of the Sept. He was smiling smugly, as though expecting her to suffer from her own wedding. As much as Oberyn had protested, Joffrey was to lead her up to the steps of the Sept in the place of her father. The King was the father of the Realm, Tywin Lannister had told him. If he wanted to have his bride, he might as well agree to it. 

  "You know what they say about your groom?" Joffrey asked her as they walked towards the steps that led to the High Septon and Oberyn. "He's half-mad and more murderous than all the Dornishmen combined." In the week she had spent with Oberyn and Ellaria, she knew that he was nothing  _but_  half-mad. She had seen what insanity true was and she knew that Oberyn was not insane. "He will have his way with you, and he will poison you if you misbehave." 

  Sansa had to fight the urge to roll her eyes. Even if Oberyn was famed for using poisons, he would be a fool to even try to poison her. Her family and his were now bound to a single fate due to the alliance between their respective brothers, so much so that her marriage to Oberyn was merely the icing on the cake. That was why she continued her blank expression and looked forwards. "Yes, your Grace," she replied coolly. 

  "He'll bring you to Dorne, and you'll melt in the desert sands," Joffrey added. "Would you like that?"

  Sansa deliberately ignored that question. They were too near the steps for Joffrey to do anything too... drastic. In many ways, this wedding would seal multiple alliances, depending on their angle. To her brother, it solidified the alliance between Dorne and the North, and to Dorne, it meant that they would have gained a powerful ally for Daenerys Targaryen when she arrives in Westeros. To the Lannisters, it meant a second layer of protection between themselves and the Martells, for they were marrying their ward to House Martell, in addition to Princess Myrcella's troth to Prince Tystane. Even if Joffrey was a fool, he would not  _dare_  to have botched this wedding. He feared his own grandfather too much to have done such a thing. 

  Only when Joffrey let go of her arm did Sansa look up. She saw Oberyn, dressed in his Dornish long tunics of greys and blues with leather accents. It was a bold move, softened by the appearance of the Martell sigil as a repeated pattern. He must have known how much her eyes had widened to see him honoring her and her family thus, because he was smiling so much that she could see the fine lines about his eyes deepen. When she was close enough to him, he gave her his hand and almost cheekily pulled her to his side. Luckily for her, she was light on her feet and was able to keep up with him. 

  The High Septon raised his eyebrow at the pair. One was a young girl and the other, a seasoned warrior and equally infamous prince. As he presided over the ceremony with long, droning speeches of how the Gods have blessed this union, he could not help but notice that the groom's arm was wound around that of the bride's waist. When he said the names of the Seven Gods and bound their hands together with a cord of silk, the groom's arm was still on her bride's waist. 

  "I give you, Prince Oberyn Martell and Princess Sansa Martell!" 

  As the attendees of the wedding applauded the proclamation from the High Septon, Oberyn drew Sansa into his arms and kissed her, going so far as to leaning her so far backwards that she gave a little yelp. No doubt, Ellaria would have enjoyed the sight of them both then and there. He cared little for what the others thought. He wanted to show her captors that she was now in his care, and they would need to answer to him before they would lay their hands on her. 

  "Your mother and brother would have loved to be here," he whispered into her ear as they walked out of the Great Sept, hand in hand. 

  "I know," she replied softly. Even if she was now Princess Sansa Martell of Dorne, she was still not out of the dangers that once surrounded her. Her boldness would only let slip that Dorne had other motives with her. One wrong step and everything that she had worked so hard for would come crashing down. She was not ready to take that risk. She would never be willing to do so. Then, all of a sudden, she sobbed. It was only one cry, but Oberyn was immediately alarmed. 

  "What is wrong?" he asked her, tipping her chin. 

  "Back... back when I was a stupid little girl, I used to dream of marrying a prince and being a princess in the capital..." she told him, half smiling and half crying. "Look at me now... I..." She could not finish her sentence. Oberyn did not let her. Even though her words held some amount of joy, he would not allow her to revisit the pain of her past memories. So, he silenced her in the only way he knew how. He kissed her again, a sweet kiss, this time, filled with promise and hope. 

  He could tell that she would be as red as one of Margery Tyrell's most beloved roses after that second kiss. He felt the warmth of her cheeks when he had cupped it in his hand. "You are a Princess twice over, Sansa," he whispered into her ear. "Your enemies would always deny you that, but you must remember." 

* * *

 

  The wedding feast was a simple affair. It was not grand, but it was something that Sansa could bear with. Margery had proposed a toast to her and Oberyn's health, a toast that Oberyn had heartedly drank to, while Sansa returned with one that prayed for an equally joyful wedding for her friend. 

  Wanting to have a taste of what he could never have, Joffrey called for the bedding to take place. Oberyn could have sworn that he almost punched the young King in the face, but had stopped after Ellaria kicked him from under the table discreetly. 

  Sansa looked as white as a sheet. She knew what a bedding entailed, and she did not want any of the Lannister men touching her. Thankfully, the Martell men were deft. Even before anyone could touch her, they had lifted her high and quickly away from anyone not of their ranks. Thus, she had reached her new chambers with Oberyn relatively unscathed, while he was utterly naked save for his smallclothes. 

  It was at that moment when Sansa knew what the word "sculpted" had meant. It denoted Oberyn's physique in the truest sense. Every single part of his body was chiseled, his strong chest, the fine ridges of his abdomen... Although she had no reference point to compare him to, she was sure that her husband was more... beautiful than the rest of the males she knew. 

 "May I carry you too the bed, my wife?" he asked her, obviously knowing that she had been staring at him. 

  She nodded her head. "You may," she replied, and felt him swoop her off her feet most effortlessly. 

  "You are lighter than I expected," he said as he strode confidently towards their bed. But before he covered her with the blankets, he took out a small vial containing some blood and poured its contents to a random spot on the bed. "Your former captors would most certainly want some evidence that this marriage has been consummated," he explained. 

  Sansa did not care. "You've hurt yourself... for me?" she asked. Knowing that it was impossible to hide anything from her, he showed her the small cut he had made on his thigh, where his clothes would have easily concealed the wound that already seemed to be healing. 

  "I would do anything for you, sweet one," he told her. "You are my wife, are you not?"

  "But..." 

  "Sansa, I want you to know that although we are bound by marriage, you are not bound to me unless you wish it," Oberyn continued, gently hushing her with his finger on her lips. She knew instantly that he was trying to get an important message across. "If you wish to take a lover, man or woman, you can and I would be happy for you. If you bear them children, I swear to you, they will be raised as my own, with my name." 

  Sansa... did not know what he was doing. As a wife in a political marriage, she knew that her husband would most certainly veer off from the marriage bed and take his lovers. She had accepted Ellaria because she was his paramour for as long as she had been alive. She knew that she could not pry them away from one another, but she did not know that the same freedom was given to her. 

  "Maybe... maybe I don't want to," she almost squeaked in reply. "Maybe I want... you and... Ellaria, but just not now..." 

  Oberyn's face brightened and he could not help but planting a kiss onto her lips for her words. "Then we will wait for you," he told her. "No one will take you before you are willing to offer yourself to them. This much I can promise you." 

  "Before that happens, will you take other lovers too?" she asked him further. "Man or woman?"

  "Only if you and Ellaria permit," Oberyn replied plainly, glad that she could at least understand how the Dornish bed worked. 

  "I'll permit only if she does," Sansa decided immediately. If they were going to let Dornish rules become the way of the bedroom, then she would follow Ellaria's lead. She needed the older woman's guidance, not only to negotiate her way as a new Dornish princess, but also to Oberyn's heart, since he was her husband now. 

  Happily, Oberyn kissed her another time, as a token of thanks. 

  "Wait..." Sansa added, interrupting a somewhat heated third kiss between them. "What do we tell Mother and Robb?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh heh heh, we see two important ceremonies today, and we hope Robb and Sansa's journeys are smooth henceforth. They serve as a renewal for them in a way. 
> 
> Maybe when Sansa is older and more secure with her footing, she'll take a lover... Hmmm, who though? 
> 
> Enjoy!


	10. The Morning After

 Sansa woke up to the sensation of being enveloped by a comfortable warmth. Oberyn's arms were around her, her head tucked under his chin. Silently, she looked at her husband and found that despite his apparent age (she could not get over the fact that he was several years older than her father), he was exceedingly handsome. There were flecks of silver in his otherwise dark hair, lines upon his face that only seemed to build... character. He showed no weariness nor willingness to be slowed down... 

 "What are you thinking about?" he asked her through half-opened eyes, interrupting her from her thoughts. Clearly, he was only half-awake, but managed to pull her closer to him. 

 "You're like the sun," she blurted, before widening her eyes, internally chastising her for her audacity and forwardness. "I'm sorry, I..." 

 "I have been called many things, Sansa, but never the sun," he told her with a smile, and smiled even wider when he saw her mimic his expression. "How is your back? Might I see it?"

 Sansa hesitated for a moment, and relented. Turning away from him, she undid a portion of her night-gown's laces and allowed him to push the fabric downwards so he could see her back. Her fresh wounds were healing well, thanks to the salve that Varys had given her, but he could see that there were many more than he had thought to see. When Sansa sensed that he had been quiet for too long, she tried to turn, but he gently stopped her from doing so. "Oberyn?" she asked. 

 "They will pay for what they have done," he hissed, kissing her shoulder and resting his head on the arch of her neck, his arms wrapped around her waist. "I will have one head for every lash they give you." 

 "You will absolutely not," she told him, causing him to raise an eyebrow. "Only Joffrey is responsible, but no one's as stupid as to wanting to kill the King head-on. Even if you do kill him, they'll put his younger brother on the throne. They won't stop as long as they're in power." She had been in the yoke of the Lannisters for three years, she knew how they functioned. More importantly, she was able to know how they maneuvered because she had been the receiving end of their movements for far too long. With the Lannisters, it was an uphill struggle with no hope of ever reaching the top. 

 Oberyn however, understood her reasoning. He kissed the back of her neck and simply replied, "I'll simply kill Tywin Lannister then," he said. "That would be the end of all the troubles of the Seven Kingdoms, I think." Sansa deliberately ignored his suggestion. Even a fool knew that it was impossible, although it was technically viable. "Come now, would you be angry at your husband on the first day of your marriage?"

 "I would want my husband to  _survive_ ," Sansa stressed. "My father died for something so little as the parentage of the Queen's children. I don't want you to perish for an even lesser cause." 

 For those words, Oberyn had kissed her fiercely. "You would prove yourself a greater Wolf than any Northerner yet, Sansa," he told her when their lips parted from one another. "Don't worry. I won't do anything... too rash unless you allow me to." In the very least, those words seemed to have calmed her down. She stopped frowning at him and was content laying her head on his chest, to have him comb his fingers through her hair. It was strange to her, that such a simple act could bring her so much comfort. 

 Sansa knew better than to trust any such promise, but she held her silence. Her husband was famous for being everything that Dorne was. Fire, passion, hatred, anger and a fierce love towards his family. She was sure that he would have jumped into another spot of trouble before long. "Can I ask you something?" she almost cooed, meeting her eyes with his. She had never seen eyes as dark as his were. Coming from the North, she had her fill of blue eyes, green... grey, but never ones so dark that they seemed almost black. Taking his raised eyebrow as an affirmative answer, she continued, "How is Robb in battle?" She had always known that Robb could fight, that he was one of the few fighters that could give her late father a run for his money, but she did not know how another warrior would see him.

 "He is a cunning general," Oberyn recounted. "The world thinks that your brother has rashly gathered your late father's bannermen to rise in rebellion against Joffrey, but he has more bite in him than anyone expects." He went on to tell Sansa how Robb and Grey Wind led the Northern Army in their charge against Casterly Rock, how man and wolf mowed through enemy lines without fear. He told Sansa how he had effectively tasked the Dornish spearmen that they had brought to him to break line after line of Lannister soldiers trying to bar them actually taking the fortress itself. "He deserves the title the Young Wolf," Oberyn praised. "However... as a king..." 

  "He is too honorable," Sansa completed his sentence for him. "He'll only do what he thinks is right, like father did." 

 Oberyn nodded. "Perhaps one day, when all this is over, you should be your brother's advisor," he told her. "Before long, you will learn to outmaneuver even Queen Cersei." 

 "I have no interest in politics," she dismissed him. 

 "Are you sure?" he asked he, his eyebrow raised again. "You show much talent for it, you know." 

 "You're teasing me," Sansa bluntly returned. 

 "Of course I am," Oberyn replied. She was still unsure of herself. He would help her find her strength if need be, and then, she will be shocked at what she would be able to accomplish. But not now. At that point of time, she was still struggling to find her own footing. He looked at his wife, and he did not find a caged little dove like Cersei did. Nor did he find an easily molded prize like others would have thought her to be (for if Varys was to be trusted, Littlefinger desired Sansa in a manner that could not be fathomed). She was a Wolf like her brother was, and he would do everything he could to give her the strength to one day carry that title. 

 Soon, their time on the marriage bed was cut short. After three curt knocks, Ellaria entered the room. "The sun is already shining upon your arses and the two of you still haven't woken up yet?" she asked gently, crawling onto the bed, settling herself next to Sansa. "Usually, I would enjoy going to tea with all the ladies at court," she proclaimed sardonically, rolling her eyes while reaching out to caress the side of Sansa's cheek, "but the Queen wants to see you, my love." 

 "Whatever for?" Oberyn asked Ellaria, who merely shrugged. 

 "The handmaiden she sent in as messenger did not say why," Ellaria answered.

 Sansa knew the answer to that. "She wants to know about the marriage bed," she guessed. She had no doubt that she would be correct though. Such was the way of King's Landing and such it would be always. 

 "That's barbaric!" Ellaria exclaimed, aghast. In Dorne, whatever happened in bed stayed in bed. While the identities of those who were in the bed were in open knowledge of others, what actually transpired on the bed was never talked about. It would be between oneself and one's lover, or lovers, depending on the situation. It was never a subject to be known by anyone else out of the bed, not even the Queen. 

 "Sansa, you don't have to go," Oberyn offered. "I will personally -" 

 "No, I'll go," Sansa said, her voice clear with resolve. It was time to show Cersei Lannister that she would not be so easily cowed. "Ellaria, would you please help me with my hair and dress?"

 Ellaria smiled. "Of course, my love," she replied, finally understanding Sansa's intent. "We shall present you as Sansa, Princess of Dorne to the lion-Queen." 

* * *

 Cersei Lannister looked at Sansa and was not pleased. The girl had been shaking, frightened stiff at the bedding last night. She remembered the particular shade of white that she had turned before a Martell bannerman quickly spirited her away from the other men. No one had ever seen Sansa after that, but she had emerged from her marriage bed almost glowing, with a spring in a step that Cersei swore she had never seen before. 

 "Hello there, little dove," Cersei greeted Sansa as per usual. It had been a term of endearment or oppression that she had given to Sansa ever since they first met in her home in Winterfell. When Sansa came into full view, she could see that she was wearing yet another Dornish dress. It was voluminous at the bottom, but the neckline of the top was so low that she could see hints of fabric used to hold her breasts together. No doubt, there was still some Northern sense in her to stop her from completely copying the style of Prince Oberyn's Dornish harlot. 

 "Good morning, Your Grace," Sansa returned the greeting. The girl was actually... smiling. It was not a full one, but there was a sliver of one. Cersei had not remembered the last time she had smiled. 

 However, she knew that all her joy would pass. As her own maids set up tea for Sansa, she said, "You must know why I have summoned you here, little dove. The marriage bed must be..." 

 "My husband is a gallant prince, Your Grace," Sansa replied. "He was kind to me." There was some amount of truth in her words, though. Nothing could ever deny that Oberyn was kind to Sansa. Not all men were brutes to their wives. She had known that her parents had a happy marriage bed, and Oberyn had promised her one when she was ready to receive him. 

 Cersei smirked. "And what of his little whore?" she asked, clearly wanting to provoke Sansa. Highborn ladies would never tolerate their husbands having other lovers, not on the surface, at least. "Did she join the bed as well?" Although she had never personally spoke to the woman before, she knew who she was by the amount of deference the Dornishmen gave her during Sansa's wedding. It was a sick display that no lady would ever allow to happen. 

 Sansa knew that it was a barb aimed mainly to hurt her. "No, she didn't," she answered, which was also the truth. Taking a sip of tea to pause the conversation, Sansa knew that if she appeared to be pleased with the whole arrangement, Cersei would find any excuse to add to her barbs in the long run. "But... he did visit her after we..."

 Cersei then looked pleased although she tried to hide it by gingerly eating a pastry. "Oh, you poor thing," she cooed vapidly. "But, such is the way with Dornishmen. They take lovers, one or two, man or woman... Imagine your shock when you find yourself losing the affections of your husband to a man..." Dornish princess now or no, Sansa was still Sansa. Her eyes bulged into the size of saucers at her words and Cersei swore that she could see the glaze of a tear forming. Now that, pleased her. 

 "I would do my duty to my husband no matter what happens," Sansa said, picking her old self up to use as a shield against Cersei. Cersei thrived upon seeing chaos being inflicted on others. It made her feel strong and clever. 

 "Oh, I am sure you would," Cersei returned. "But, little dove, you will give him a son, won't you? He has had a veritable army of daughters, I hear." The Sand Snakes his daughters were called. The oldest in her late twenties and the youngest only four. She knew little of them apart from this. 

 "If the Gods bless me with one, I would, Your Grace," Sansa returned, making her voice shake slightly. 

 Cersei moved in for the kill. "You must, little dove. With so many daughters and a whore wedged between you and your husband, a son is a must to affirm your position," she advised. "Else, you would grow old and dry in the Dornish desert with no one to protect you." Sansa kept her silence after that. She only looked at the Queen quietly. There was the Sansa Cersei had always known. "You must heed my words, dear Sansa. You are a woman now, and we women have to look out for each other in this cruel world."

 Sansa nodded timidly. "Thank you, Your Grace," she thanked. 

 "That will be all, little dove, you may go." 

* * *

 

 "Sansa must have been a bride by now," Catelyn mused when she was having her mid-day meal with Robb and Talisa. It was a habit that they had fallen into since taking Casterly Rock, to have at least one meal a day as a family. She might not have approved of Talisa as a good choice for a daughter-in-law, but she was the only one that she had. Grey Wind would join them as well, sitting beside the table, waiting for Robb to throw it scraps of food as treats. 

 "Prince Oberyn will be a good husband to her," Talisa replied sweetly. "He is a good father to Obara and Nym, is he not?" In the brief time that she had seen Oberyn and his daughters together, she knew that he was a wise and doting father. Even a blind man could see that father and daughters were extremely close. Their family must have been one filled with love and light. 

 Robb heaved a heavy sigh. "I just hope that he does right by her," he muttered. He might have great trust in a great many things, but he wasn't so sure about him when it came to Sansa. There were too many rumors and too many of those rumors were proven true. He knew that men were beasts and some beasts could not be tamed at all. 

 Catelyn put a hand on Robb's shoulder and said, "If Prince Oberyn values this alliance, he will treat your sister like the princess she is." A murderous, half-mad and sometimes ingenious person Prince Oberyn may be, but Catelyn had always trusted her gut and her gut told her that he was a good man. However, anything was on her mind. "Talisa, you haven't really touched your food. Are you well?"

 Talisa seemed to have frozen up for awhile but she soon said, "Yes, mother, I am but..." 

 "What is it?" Robb asked almost immediately, taking hold of her hand. He touched her forehead with his other hand, and touched his own. "You don't have a fever..." 

 "The smell of red meat puts me off," Talisa said, causing Catelyn's face to brighten up. 

 "Why?" Robb asked again, "Is it because it isn't cooked right?"

 "Robb, calm down!" Catelyn almost shouted. Her oldest son could be such a slow-minded person at times. "Your wife has something to tell you." 

 He then cast a worried look at Talisa. "What do you have to tell me?" he asked her. 

 "I'm with child," Talisa proclaimed, and watched Robb's expression turned from one of concern to one of utter joy. He gathered her in his arms despite his mother's presence and started to ask her lots of questions. He wanted to know if she was certain. "Robb, I'm a healer," she chided gently, reminding him of her occupation. 

 "Oh... sorry," her husband apologized. "I'm just... so happy," he explained. Never in his wildest dreams did he expect that he would be a father. 

 Catelyn beamed. "The first pregnancies are always the hardest," she told Talisa, holding her hand in hers to give it a gentle squeeze. Her daughter was wedded and now she was going to be a grandmother. These were blessings that no other woman would have in those dark times. She knew that she had to be grateful. 

 After lunch, Robb and Talisa returned to their chambers so that they could talk to about their unborn child, leaving Catelyn alone with Grey Wind as they wandered through the halls of Casterly Rock. She could never get used to the sheer ostentatiousness of the Lannisters' ancestral seat. She had never seen the use of so much gold in her life, and often wondered how much better the lives of those living in the Westerlands would have been if the gold was put into better use. 

 She then spotted the two Sand Snakes, talking to one another. They did not giggle or cackle. There was something about them, something dangerous... Obara was the older one, she had gathered, and she had often chosen to clad herself in Dornish leather armor even as her younger sister Nymeria chose to wear those revealing Dornish tunics with breeches and boots. The Sand Snakes took as the viper as their personal sigils, hidden amongst their armor and weapons and hers came in the form of her serpentine spear, while Nymeria's in the form of her whip. They must have loved their father. 

 Yet, there was something that she did not understand. These girls were half-sisters, bastards or not. They all had different mothers, so why were they so close? They looked to be no different than her Sansa and Arya back during peaceful times, although they would often fight and argue, even she and Lysa did when they were children. But...

 "Oh, Lady Catelyn," Nymeria greeted her as she and Obara stood from the bench they were sitting on. 

 "We were just talking about our father... and Princess Sansa," Obara added. "My father sent word, I'd meant to deliver it to you just now, but you were having your meal with the King and Queen." 

 Catelyn smiled. "What did your father say?" she asked them. 

 "He has already wedded your daughter in the Great Sept," Obara recounted, because Nymeria was a woman of fewer words. "But... he took a vial of his own blood and faked evidence of any consummation to the Lannisters." 

 Her eyes widened. Catelyn did not understand. The marriage  _had_  to be consummated during the wedding night. "Why? Is it not a wife's duty to..." What had Sansa done? 

 "Lady Catelyn, we Dornish do not force those who are unwilling into the act of intercourse," Obara said bluntly. "If Princess Sansa couldn't... perform her duties as a wife, she must have had her reasons, and at the hands of those monsters, I'm sure that there are many." 

 At those words, some part of relief washed over Catelyn. She had been so sure that Oberyn, famously amorous Oberyn would have wanted his fill of her daughter the first opportunity he had. She had heard so much of Sansa's growing beauty from the capital, how other men had desired her... 

 "Our father would not touch her until she is ready, my lady," Nymeria added gently, unwrapping her whip from around her waist. "If he does..." She cracked her whip and cocked a smirk towards Obara. 

 "Well, Grey Wind and I won't disturb you any longer," Catelyn told them and decided that she should make a move towards the sept in the Rock. "Thank you for telling me all this, the two of you." She had since known that the Sand Snakes did not like to be addressed to as ladies, even as a common courtesy. 

 "The pleasure is ours, Lady Catelyn," Obara replied, and Catelyn made to move away from their company, and she continued to converse with her sister. 

 Catelyn could not help but smile at their antics. It was clear to her then that what Talisa said was true. Oberyn loved his daughters and they loved him back in their own way. At least she would have one less worry about Sansa, that she would be well-protected in King's Landing with her husband's company. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't ask me how Oberyn is able to send word from capital all the way to Casterly Rock so quickly. I don't know, just accept it, heh heh. 
> 
> I also want to put Cersei's strategies to your attention. This woman has no poker face. She will put all her cards in one hand, wait until they are full and use them all at once. She'll suffer when she no longer has any to play with. 
> 
> Maybe Oberyn is right. Catelyn MIGHT just be easier to handle than Robb. 
> 
> Enjoy!


	11. Council

 The Small Council. 

 Dorne was promised a seat on the Small Council when the Lannisters sent Princess Myrcella Baratheon to Dorne to be fostered before she was wedded to Prince Trystane, son of Prince Doran, and Oberyn was officially in King's Landing to claim said seat. Oberyn did not know under what capacity he would enter the Small Council as, but since his brother Doran could not travel far due to his health, he was the one who would sit on the Small Council in his stead. However, there was no open position for him, despite the fact that the position of Masters of Ships and Laws were vacant since the Baratheon brothers Stannis and the late Renly rebelled against the King. Tywin Lannister did not trust Dorne enough to give its lords such a high office, Oberyn mused. 

 "So... does this mean that I'm a 'Master' of something now?" he asked the Council as they all sat down. Varys found that joke quite amusing. "Coins... ships..." Well, it had been worth the try. Just as he finished speaking, Tywin Lannister came into the chamber with Cersei hot on his trail. Everyone in the chamber stood for them, while Oberyn remained in his seat. Dorne and the Iron Throne were on equal terms, for Dorne was not conquered, but married into the Seven Kingdoms, after all. He was not required to stand for anyone except the King, and the King was not there. 

 "Prince Oberyn, you've finally decided to join us," Tywin greeted. "Being a married man suits you well." Empty words, of course. 

 "What can I say, the Gods decided to bless me with a beautiful, young wife," Oberyn answered, appearing to be very pleased with himself. It was the truth though. 

 "Sansa is a sweet little dove," Cersei added. "I do hope the both of you would fine happiness in your marriage." 

 "I thank you, Queen Cersei," Oberyn thanked. "We are definitely most happy. I am sure that my lovely wife would be happier still if she were to see the wider world away from King's Landing..." Sansa was no longer a royal ward (or that of the Lannisters'), and was technically free to roam where she would. 

 The rest of the Small Council merely watched as the three of them exchanged barbs. It was evident that neither of them liked one another very much, but business was business and business had to go on. "My lords, Your Grace, we have a terrible lot to discuss today, let us put family matters aside, shall we?" Varys offered. 

 Clearing his throat, Tywin said, "Agreed. Lord Varys, what do your little birds report?"

 "Well, Robb Stark is getting busy in the Westerlands, my Lord Hand," Varys answered. "He's not only reorganized his armies, but the crops his men are planting seem to be highly successful. If everything goes well, the Westerlands would be able to survive the winter without any issue." 

 It was good news for anyone who had the allegiance of the Northmen, but bad news for the Lannisters. "What are the lords of the Westerlands doing there?" Cersei demanded. "Don't they remember where their fealty lies?"

 "Despicable!" Pycelle spat. "Such behavior from these Westerland Houses will surely anger the Gods!" 

 "The problem, dear sister, is that they're doing nothing," Tyrion said. "If they do nothing, they gain everything." 

 "How is that possible?" Cersei asked. "Don't they understand that if they do nothing, they'll have Father's wrath to answer to?"

 "Yes, they have that to face," Tyrion said. "But that's far off into the future after the war's over and done with. Right now, they have Robb Stark trying to buy the love of the smallfolk for them with the food his army's planting for them. They can't do anything unless they want the smallfolk to rip them to shreds once they're out of food like our previous High Septon."

 A great silence crossed the room and Oberyn continued to observe the rest of the Small Council. After Tywin nodded, he said, "Robb Stark's also captured Roose Bolton trying to flee his ranks and join with the Freys. After doing so, he had Lord Bolton's lands and arms stripped away from him and sent him to manure the fields. He also divided Bolton's men to the rest of the Northern lords as gifts for their continued support." 

 Tywin harrumphed. "The Starks and the Boltons have been at each other's throats for years," he said. "That will only drive the wedge between them further. How long before the Bolton men start to avenge their master?"

 "The thing is, Robb Stark's had his entire army reorganized," Varys added, much to the dismay of the Small Council. "He's had new uniforms made for them, with nothing to differentiate one another with. He's banned the use of House banners and now the army of the North only have one grey banner to ride behind with. The Northern lords seem to be very happy about it, and their morale has never been higher." 

 "Does this mean that we do nothing at all?" Cersei demanded. "What about Uncle Kevan? Do we even know if he's alive?"

 "Ser Kevan was not found in the body count at all, Your Grace," Varys said. "Perhaps he was taken prisoner?"

 All eyes moved to Tywin, including Oberyn. "I said it once and I've said it again, we will wait until Robb Stark makes his next move. It's impossible that this stalemate will remain for long. He might have gained Casterly Rock, but he only has twenty thousand soldiers. We have the greater numbers." 

 "What numbers do you have?" Oberyn asked Tywin. "Last I counted, you have the same number of men in the capital." 

 "That is where you've miscounted, dear Prince," Cersei replied. "With our alliance with the Tyrells, we will have seventy thousand men all within a week's march." Seventy thousand was a great number. Even in full strength, the North had fifty thousand warriors, but they are cut off from their King by the Freys and Winterfell was taken by the Ironborn. Robb Stark would break like water on rock if he dared to take the capital, reorganized army or no. 

 "An alliance that must be set to stone," Tywin stressed. "Joffrey and Lady Margery must wed, and soon. We must bind the Tyrells to us as soon as possible." 

 "Where do we find the gold for the wedding?" Tyrion asked. "I'm the Master of Coin, but I can't just... give birth to gold out of thin air!" Oberyn actually chuckled at his choice of words. He actually found Tyrion Lannister to be a very amusing man. 

 "Ask the Tyrells," Tywin concluded. "If they want Lady Margery to be the Queen, they'll have to pay their dues as well." 

 Tyrion obviously wilted after being set with such an immense task. There was only one person who could have such a great say in the affairs of House Tyrell, and it would be Olenna Tyrell. 

 "If there's nothing more to discuss, this meeting will be adjourned," Tywin declared sternly. "Varys, I want your little birds to send reports of Lord Baelish and the North the next time we meet." 

 Varys nodded. "Of course, my Lord Hand," he replied and said nothing more. 

* * *

 "The North still has twenty five thousand men that hasn't been deployed, Your Grace," one of Robb's bannermen told him as Robb gathered his bannermen for a war council. They had already rested and recuperated well enough in Casterly Rock, and with a bumper crop of vegetables and enough livestock, they were ready to fight again. "Call them all to your side and with the Dornish army, we can take King's Landing." 

 "When the little butcher-king marries the Tyrell girl, they'll have seventy thousand men in the capital," Obara countered. "No one sane enough will even dare to meet such a force." With a piece of yellow chalk, Obara drew a line around King's Landing, and with a green one, she drew another line, with more space between the first line and the walls of the capital. "This... is what seventy thousand soldiers looks like."

 "Thank you, Obara," Robb said, gently holding up a hand to signal that Obara should keep her peace. "Even at our full strength, we can't take King's Landing with a greater force. It will be our suicide if we even try." 

 "So what do we do?" Edmure Tully asked him. "The soldiers of the Riverlands are yours, Your Grace." 

 "Uncle, your men will remain in Riverrun," Robb said. "They'll protect the Riverlands as they know best. You'll have Uncle Brynden as your advisor." In truth, it was a measure to prevent Edmure from doing anything that all of them would regret again. The Riverlands had forty thousand men, and by technicality, they were Robb's subjects as well. As much as he wanted those forty thousand men, Robb knew that they belonged in the Riverlands because they were the most familiar with them. "However, you must come to me if I send word for aid in a moment's notice." 

 "Yes, Your Grace," Edmure said. He had promised his nephew that he would not fail him again. He would honor his promise even if it meant his death. 

 The Northmen were in no position to be gloating, either. The lords of the Westerlands were only simply tolerating their presence there. So long as they harmed none of their holdings or lands or men, they were safe from their wrath. One false move and they will be torn to shreds. No, Robb needed his own men to come to him. 

 "Lord Umber," Robb said to Greatjon. "I'll need you to go with Uncle Edmure and Uncle Brynden to sack the Twins," he said. "We'll need them if any of our men are to cross the Trident." He needed the Twins to be open, so the Northmen could retreat back into the North, or the rest of the Northmen could come south with ease, but he could not risk anything to the Freys. He might have broken a marriage contract, but the Freys had conspired with Roose Bolton to deliver his head to the Lannisters. It was reason enough for them to exact their vengeance on them and have control of the Trident once and for all. 

 Greatjon Umber nodded. "Leave it to me," he said enthusiastically. 

 "Succeed and the Twins are yours, Lord Umber," Robb declared after nodding to Brynden Tully. The Twins were a small price to pay to Greatjon if he could take them from the Freys. A Northerner needed to control them if Northerners were to be allowed to freely pass them.

 "I won't fail you, Your Grace." 

 "What do we do about Winterfell?" another bannerman asked. 

 "Winterfell is a lost cause," Robb heard a quiet voice muttering words that he knew were true. It was too far away for him to return to, and if they did return, all their work in the Westerlands would be for naught. Winter was coming and if the Northern Lords returned north, they would never go south to fight even if their King demanded them to. He had already made his peace that he would never see Winterfell again unless they returned home in triumph. 

 Looking at the ranks of his bannermen, his blue eyes focused on his most untapped resource. He needed those he could trust to handle such a mission of subtlety and strength. He needed bannermen of unwavering loyalty and ability. No one could fulfill all the criterion that he needed save for Lady Maege Mormont. The Mormonts of Bear Island were known for their loyalty and honor, despite the actions of Jorah Mormont. As an added bonus, the Mormonts have been fending off Ironborn and wildlings since time immemorial.

 "Lady Mormont," he said to Maege Mormont. "You will follow the Greatjon and my uncles at the rear. Once they have taken the Twins, I will have you and your daughters re-sack Winterfell for the North. Winterfell might be a lost cause, but we cannot let it fall to ruin. Cleanse Winterfell of any Bolton and Ironborn you see. Take back the capital of the North for the Northerners." 

 Meage Mormont bowed and nodded. "My girls and I will make sure those bastards regret they ever set foot in Winterfell, Your Grace," she reassured him. 

 The departure of the Mormonts and Greatjon Umber would mean that at least seven thousand men would be leaving northwards. It was a risk that he had to take if more of the Northern army were to be able to assemble at Casterly Rock. For now, he would have to rely on the Rivermen that his uncles had as well. 

 "I want word to be sent out," Robb added. "That ten thousand men are going back up north to reclaim it, that the rest of us are here in Casterly Rock, waiting for their good news so we can complete our retreat." 

 He had hoped that by the time the Lannisters found out what he had done, the Twins would have fallen and the Mormonts and their men would have been well on their way back towards Winterfell. He had hoped by then, Tywin Lannister would think them to be defenseless, running with their tails between their legs and try to take Casterly Rock. He would be met with at least ten thousand Northmen and three times the amount of Rivermen if he tried to do it. 

 With all the preparations done, all he could do was hope. 

* * *

 

 "Being an advisor to the Small Council is  _tiring work_ ," Oberyn complained to both Sansa and Ellaria as they walked through the gardens on their side of the Red Keep. "All this scheming and plotting..." 

 Ellaria merely swatted him on the arm while Sansa appeared to be more concerned. "What did you discuss?" his wife asked him. 

 "Your brother, dear Sansa," Oberyn answered. "Tywin Lannister aims to wait him out and win the war by attrition. There's also to be a wedding soon. The Gods know that the Lannisters need the Tyrells' armies to support them." 

 "How many do they have?" Sansa asked. She knew that the Tyrells were rich, but she had never heard of the strength of their arms before. 

 "Fifty thousand swords, apparently," Oberyn replied. "Queen Cersei was very happy to tell me that, mind you." Sansa paled at the number that her husband had relayed to her. Her brother did not have fifty thousand soldiers, she knew that as much. Sensing her distress, Oberyn scooted over to her and kissed her forehead. "Robb is not such a fool to want to take King's Landing with what he currently has," he reassured her. "He has a lot more work to do before he can actually attempt such a... stunt." 

 "Come now, my love," Ellaria said to Sansa, taking her hand in hers. "We have a wedding to attend, and we need new dresses for such a grand event. My maids have told me of this excellent dressmaker in the market..." Before Sansa even knew it, Ellaria had already moved her far enough away from Oberyn to even garner another question. 

 Oberyn sighed. At times he wondered if he should divulge so much to Sansa. It had less of his trust towards her abilities to keep her mouth tightly sealed, but more of his worry that she would overburden herself. She loved her family and she wanted every single bit of news that she could have of them. She was not to blame for such a simple wish, of course, but when her family was in the center of the fray, and when his could only work in secret... 

 He cursed himself for wanting to dote upon his wife. He cursed himself for immediately being enslaved by her soulful, blue eyes. 

 "Strange seeing you alone without any company, Prince Oberyn," Varys greeted him from across the garden. The Spider had been monumental in

 "Sansa and Ellaria are out in the market," Oberyn explained. "To distract my lovely bride from the mundane things that go about this Red Keep." 

 Varys shrugged pointedly. "Oh, I agree that this Red Keep is a little mundane," he replied. "But it can be quite interesting at times. Former political hostages can become princesses here, as an example. Princess Sansa might have been able to escape the Lannisters by marrying you, but if the Lannisters were to sniff out any... anomalies, they will want to swallow her whole again." 

 It was not a threat that came from Varys. It was a word of caution. Together, they walked towards a part of the Red Keep where no one else could hear them - the Godswood, and they walked in silence. 

 "What do the Lannisters already know?" Oberyn asked Varys. 

 "Not much," Varys replied. "But Dorne, not Robb Stark is the only thing that can save her. If you fall, so will she. Sansa Stark is getting more and more politically astute, but without a backer, she cannot grow into her own. That would be such a waste, don't you think?

 "Why would anyone need Sansa?" he asked. 

 "Her talents lie not only in politics, my prince," Varys answered. "The Starks... have quite a magical quality about them. Some say that since they have never been conquered, they're the direct descendants of the First Men, who have powers that cannot be comprehended by other humans." Oberyn understood what Varys was trying to imply. Incensed, he unsheathed his dagger and pointed it towards Varys' almost non-existent neck. "If you want to protect your wife, you'll know that you'll need me alive." 

 "Why Sansa?" Oberyn asked, re-sheathing his dagger. "Why not Robb himself? Isn't he the Young Wolf? Who knows what he can do with his direwolf already?"

 Varys shook his head. "Our friend across the sea might have hatched several little... lizards, but she might not be able to control them. Any knowledge of how to do so has been lost to the known world ever since the last lizard died here in the Red Keep. Besides, Robb Stark has not shown any sign yet of having the same gift your wife has." 

 "You think that she can learn how to control beasts?"

 "My Prince, she has learned to survive the malice and cruelty the denizens of this wretched place can throw at her. Learning to control beasts will be nothing compared to that." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll have to say, this chapter is a bit dry, but necessary. It was also very, very difficult for me to write, precisely because of how dry it is. All the scheming and plotting is very tiring indeed. 
> 
> I will also be omitting the little scene between Varys and Oberyn, because it is highly evident that Varys was the one who made the Stark-Martell-(hopefully) Targaryen alliance work. So, in this fic, Oberyn and Doran have long known Varys' motives to restore Targaryen rule. 
> 
> I hope you like what I'm planning for Sansa, although that won't happen in the near(ish) future for her.
> 
> Enjoy!


	12. Growing

 "You... Robb Stark, are a scoundrel!" Walder Frey shouted when he was brought before Robb after the Twins were taken by the coalition of the Rivermen, Greatjon Umber and Maege Mormont (who was since headed northwards to Winterfell). "I give you passage to cross  _my_  bridge, you broke the marriage pact with  _my family_  and you have the audacity to come and take all that is  _mine_? Where is the honor that you pride yourself in having, boy?"

 Robb scowled at Walder Frey. "You have been conspiring to send me to the Lannisters even before we crossed your bridge!" he shouted, hurling a handful of paper towards him. Each and every piece of them were letters that he had sent to Casterly Rock, detailing the price of his payment for delivering his head on a silver platter. "I did what I did to defend myself and my men!" 

 "This is treason, Lord Frey!" Catelyn bellowed. "You are a vassal of House Tully, and House Tully has sworn fealty to my son! For siding with the Lannisters alone, you should have been hung on the noose!" 

 Walder Frey spat on Catelyn's shoes and earned a punch from Brynden Tully. Most old men would have died upon such impact, but not Lord Frey. No, he still managed to stand, despite the gout that took him. "If you kill me, my sons and grandsons will have your head and send it to the Lannisters all the same!" 

 Robb stood up and said, "Let's take a walk." 

 The Greatjon and Brynden Tully nodded and hauled Walder Frey at each side so that he could not escape. Together with a good-sized guard, they brought him to the dungeons where every single one of his progeny were locked in. His sons, his grandsons, great-grandsons and his nephews. All of the Frey men. The women were untouched, given ample freedom under guard at the Twins. 

 "You can save them, Lord Frey," Robb said. "Admit that you were the one who betrayed us to the Lannisters and we'll set them all free." 

 Walder Frey huffed. "Do you think that killing me will set them free?" he asked. "You're a fool, boy!  _I_  am the only thing that's keeping them alive from being killed! Kill me, and all my enemies will have them slaughtered." 

 "Want to bet?" Robb Stark asked him. "Let them be the judge of that. You have a hundred descendants, and let us see how proud of you they are." Having said thus, he had Walder Frey locked in a cell opposite to that of his family's, in full view of them all. He then turned towards them and said, "You know what Walder Frey's done to the Riverlands. The Lannisters set fire to your crops and he throws his lot with them. What would happen to you when he dies? If you surrender him to me, I will ensure that no one dares touch you." 

 There was silence all around. No one dared to speak. They only darted their mousy little eyes between Robb and Walder Frey. They did not dare say anything, although they knew the task Robb had set before them. It was punishment for them, punishment for the head of their family as well. 

 "You all have a day and a night to decide," Robb told them. 

 "Nasty little shits, all of 'em," Greatjon Umber commented as they left the dungeons. "Walder Frey had four thousand men, headed by his hundred descendants, but when we reached the Twins, only half his men were alive." 

 "How?" Robb asked. 

 "It is true that Lord Frey ruled with an iron fist," Brynden Tully answered. "And that iron fist has left his people starving and hungry. A bunch of outlaws, calling themselves the Brotherhood without Banners roam the Riverlands, targeting nobles who have terrorized their smallfolk. Needless to say, Lord Frey's men were easy ones, ready for the taking. Some even said that it was an inside job." 

 That was why it was so easy to take the Twins. "Who betrayed them?" Robb asked. 

 "Why, his own progeny," Greatjon added with a scoff. "When you caught Roose Bolton, they panicked and were about to bolt off like the rabbits they were. However, Walder Frey continued to keep them holed up at the Twins and they were prisoners of their own home by their own family." 

 "Then we'll already know their answer," Robb said. "I want the two of you to continue your watch on the Freys until they've decided. I'll be making my way to the fields. Mother told me that we'll have so many potatoes, we'll might as well distill them and make some sort of new drink from them!" 

 The three of them shared a laugh and Robb went on his way, his expression darkening again when he left their company. Step by step, Robb moved out of Casterly Rock and found his way to the fields where the smallfolk there and his men tended to the last of the summer crops that would hopefully last them through winter. 

 However, his destination was in a rather secluded part of the fields, where a lone man was shoveling layers and layers of manure, guarded by at least two hundred of his best men and Grey Wind, who stood watch over him. "You've done a great job taking out the Freys and leaving them to cannibalize their own," the man said. "But if you would have listened to me, this would had happened sooner and you would've had safe passage to the Twins long before you ended up in this stalemate with the Lannisters." 

 "This stalemate would not have happened if you commanded your bastard to sack Winterfell and claim it as your own, Bolton," Robb replied. "I would not have needed to part with any commander and we'd be able to take on King's Landing just the same." 

 "But you've new friends now, don't you?" Bolton asked him. "Prince Oberyn marries your sister and you will have fifty thousand Dornishmen by your side... but where are the other forty thousand? All you have now are ten thousand spearmen and two Sand Snakes..."

 The Dornish were not withholding their men. That much Robb knew. The Dornish were like serpents in the grass, lying in wait. He knew that the Dornish had been waiting for as long as he had been alive, their patience could wear out the reigns of kings. 

 "The Targaryen girl," Robb concluded. "They're waiting for her to cross the Narrow Sea." 

 Strength for strength, Robb knew that forty thousand Northmen and fifty thousand Dornishmen were not enough to fight against seventy thousand Lannisters and Tyrells. They might have been the fewer number, but they had an almost impregnable keep and better equipment and a lot of food to suffer a long siege. The Reach had an area smaller than the North, but the lands there were the most fertile. They had the most kinds of food and thus, their soldiers were the strongest not by skill or experience, but by nourishment alone. 

 Roose Bolton harrumphed. "Those dragons of hers are little more than overgrown lizards in size," he said. "One well-placed arrow will blot them out of the sky before they can do any damage to anything or any one. The Targaryen girl is the Khaleesi of only a hundred Dothraki screamers, King Robb. She is not a worthy ally. It would seem that you have sold your beloved sister for less than what Viserys Targaryen had." 

 At those words, Robb clutched Roose on the collar and hissed, "What choice do I have, Bolton? It was either throw our lot in with the Dornish and Targaryens and take this blasted Rock or abandon all hope and beg Walder Frey for forgiveness and have my uncle Edmure marry one of the Frey girls. Walder Frey would have killed us all at the wedding!" Bolton gave him a sardonic look and Robb punched him so hard that he fell backwards. "You... bastard!" 

 Bolton immediately stood back up and said, "I'd say that these weeks have made you a far different man that you envisioned yourself to be. You are learning that the world that your father has taught you about doesn't really exist, and I can imagine the pain twisting in your honorable little heart like a knife." 

 Robb fumed. He fumed because he knew Roose Bolton was right. His father would have approved of his actions. He had broken an oath to Walder Frey (whether or not it was a legal one) and he was going to have his family vote to kill him and he had left Roose Bolton, a proven traitor alive. Things had gone topsy turvy and he had no choice but to act on his feet. 

 "My father was Lord of Winterfell," Robb told Bolton. "He was just as all lords should be during times of peace. I am not my father, I am the King in the North and... the Trident. I can't do what he did." 

 "Good, you're learning then," Bolton said. "Let's hope that you survive long enough to pass such a great title down." 

* * *

 

 Sansa had come to recognize the letters that Oberyn would receive that came by way of Dornish merchants in King's Landing, those letters from his daughters Obara and Nymeria. They would often come with a brown-colored seal shaped like a snake. These would always carry news to him from Casterly Rock. 

 "What do your daughters say?" Sansa asked him when he sat down on the chaise next to her. 

 "Your brother has asked the sons and grandsons of Walder Frey to decide his fate," Oberyn told her. "They told him that to atone for his transgressions against their King, he should be executed. Your brother did just that."

 Sansa sighed. "Doing it must have made him feel very bad," she commented. "Father would often tell us why he'd executed the men that broke his laws. He told us that the man who passes the sentence should be the one that swings the sword." 

 "Walder Frey would have had your family gathered at his daughter's wedding to your uncle Edmure Tully and killed them all," Oberyn told her. "He is ridding the world of another threat to him and his." 

 Sansa nodded. "What else is there?" she asked. 

 "Your sister-in-law, the Queen is with child," Oberyn added, smiling when Sansa broke into a smile. "You're going to be an aunt soon." 

 However, Sansa's smile soon disappeared. "Though... it would be a long, long time before I'd get to meet the child." Even though Casterly Rock was not as far away from King's Landing as Winterfell was, but as long as there was a military stalemate between the Northern and Lannister armies, she knew her family would be a world away. 

 "You will, my love," Ellaria told her. "Nothing is stronger in this world than the love of one's family." 

 Sansa broke a smile for Ellaria. "And now, you're my family now, the both of you." 

  Those words surprised Oberyn as much as it did Ellaria. They were sure that they had thought themselves to be her protector, her guides, but... she was right. She was Oberyn's wife, and she had accepted Ellaria's position as his paramour. 

  "And we shall be with you when your brother and mother cannot," Oberyn told her, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her fully. "Now that you mention it, this means that Obara and Nymeria are... nieces of sorts to the Young Wolf, are they not?"

 Ellaria chuckled at Oberyn's comment. "They would love their new stations as nieces of a king," she added. 

 "You haven't told me what's the other end of the bargain, though," Sansa said, interrupting a somewhat warm moment between them three. 

  "That will be revealed at later time, Sansa," Oberyn replied, kissing the corner of her lips. He had been deep at thought at what Varys had told him. Although he had seen Sansa warging only once, and she had been in his constant company ever since they were married, he knew that Varys was right. It would take some time before Daenerys Targaryen's dragons were big enough to be brought into the battlefield, but he knew that unless she knew how to control them, even she would be at their mercy. 

  "But..." 

  Ellaria knew the best way to distract her. Gently, she brought Sansa into her arms and kissed her as Oberyn would. Granted, she was shocked, but she did not fight her. In fact, she'd melted into the other woman faster than she did with Oberyn. "And how was that, my love?" she asked her lover's sweet wife. "Did you like being kissed by a woman?"

  "I..." Sansa was as red as a tomato. However, Oberyn turned her around and claimed her as his. That kiss had been lingering, all tongues and all passion. It was nothing that she had ever felt before. "What are you two doing?" she asked them. 

  "What do you think we're doing?" Oberyn returned, snaking his hands around her waist. With one powerful jerk, her entire body was pressed against his. Sansa could see his eyes, and she found them to be different than what the used to be, while Ellaria came up behind him, so she would be facing her. "Trying to distract you, my dear wife." 

  Sansa did not say anything. She couldn't. Her attentions were trapped by Ellaria once again. Ellaria managed to steal a kiss, and then two and three while Oberyn nipped and lapped on the skin on the arch of her neck. How did she end up like this? Was she not talking to Oberyn about her role in the coming conflict?

  In a way, she hated them, for they were the only ones that could cause her to take a side-step from her own thoughts. It was the look of their eyes that reminded her that Shae was right, that Lord Baelish did see something else in her. But how, she had no time to be remembering Baelish. Her husband was trying to seduce her and his paramour was trying to steal her away from him. They had a way of devouring her with their eyes without making her feel unsure of herself. 

  But, she could not continue. She started to be alarmed the moment she felt Oberyn reach for the laces on the back of her dress. She gently grasped his arm and opened her eyes wide. Ellaria had stopped as Oberyn did and he kissed her hand as a manner of telling her that he understood, that he would stop since she wished for them to do so. 

  She wanted to give into them, she really wanted to. Her lips were slightly red and swollen from all the kisses she had receive and given, to Oberyn and also Ellaria, and she found herself to be straddling Oberyn's lips... She wanted to. But for whatever reason, her body could not accept anything more than heated kisses, even if it was with one of the two or both of them together. 

  "I'm sorry," she apologized to them. She was not ready. She clearly was not, not out of fear though, never out of fear. But for some reason that she could not name as of yet. 

  "You don't have to apologize, my love," Ellaria told her, kissing her forearm as she moved from Oberyn's back to Sansa's side. "These things take time, and the more you try to rush it, the harder it will get for you."  

  Sansa nodded, and flopped herself onto the chaise with Ellaria's arms around her and Oberyn whispering sweet nothings into her ear. She had not expected herself to have welcomed the touch of another woman before Ellaria had so sweetly kissed her. Perhaps what she had said to Oberyn on their wedding night would come into existence, that one day, she would be able to let them both make her a woman. 

  Within moments, she was fast asleep. The warmth of their bodies becoming an easy source of heat for her to get lost in, and she felt safe being sandwiched between them. Seeing her at peace made Oberyn sigh even as he combed his fingers through her long, fiery hair. 

  "There are others who have determined that our Sansa would be a great determinant of our success in the future," he told Ellaria as he caressed the side of her cheek. "Her abilities as a skinchanger has been noted." He knew that he could not hide Sansa under his wing for too long. She was never meant to be displayed and presented like a typical noblewoman. 

  Ellaria sighed as well. "They should have taken more care with her," she chided their unseen allies abound. "They should know that it is a blessing if Sansa is already on our sides without question." 

  Thus, Oberyn knew that he had found the key to unlocking Sansa's abilities, so she would stand confidently, proud of herself and what she could do. Before she would be able to show the world what she was capable off, he deemed that the first, small step for his wife was her very own sexuality. 

  As of now, Sansa was able to guard herself. She was able to draw the line between what she was comfortable with and what she was not. Being Dornish, Oberyn and Ellaria greatly respected the boundaries that she had set. She would have been met with resistance if her husband was a brute from other lands. 

  Once she was confident enough over herself, once she was able to give herself to them. She would be ready to serve, Oberyn deemed. Then, he would have his fill of her and after they were all sated, he would teach her that love and desire were weapons so potent and powerful that they were most often overlooked by fools who adorned themselves with too much steel. 

  Until then, Oberyn knew that he and Ellaria had to be patient. She would bring a world of different possibilities when she was ready for them. They would willingly wait until that day comes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, Robb and Sansa seem to be in similar predicaments. They are learning on their feet with the help of the most unexpected of individuals. ^_^
> 
> I know I just teased all of you with a very hot would-be menage-a-trois between Oberyn, Sansa and Ellaria, but Sansa's not ready for the real thing yet, and so am I, because I'm writing this intermittently between bouts of sleep and typing. I'll try once again when I'm physically able to. 
> 
> Yes, the aim is to use Sansa as a skinchanger/warg to at least help Dany control her dragons in the future. 
> 
> Enjoy!


	13. Animals in the Jungle

 "Is it done then?" Mother asked that bald man that smiled creepily. For whatever reason, Mother had handed her leash to the man and he looked extremely pleased with himself. She found no other sign of her siblings, and started calling out to them. The pink little humans around Mother did not seem pleased, though, although she did not know why. 

 The brown-skinned human female that was new to Mother and her friends talked to the bald man. "It is done," the brown female replied. "You hold the whip." 

 "Mother? Are you leaving me here with this man?" she asked Mother, but was paid no heed. "Mother?" She squawked and squawked, but still Mother did not do so much as to look at her. 

 Instead, Mother looked towards the lines and lines of men in armor. Wielding the golden whip that she was given, Mother shouted towards them in the Old Tongue, "Dovaogēdys, naejot memēbātās!" The men moved forwards as Mother commanded them to with surprising unison. However, the pink humans with Mother looked utterly surprised. Didn't they hear Mother speaking in the Old Tongue to her and her siblings? "Kelītīs!" Mother shouted again, and this time, the men stopped moving. 

 The bald man was pulling too hard on her leash and she did not like it. However, the higher she tried to fly away, the more the man tried to hold her back down. She was almost going to get hurt from such a struggle. He bellowed towards Mother in a strange form of the Old Tongue, something along the lines that she would not come to him. Of course she wouldn't heed him. He was not Mother. She had no compulsion to listen to him at all. 

 "Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor," Mother told him, clearly proving that she was fluent in the Old Tongue. The bald man was so stunned that he lowered the leash, asking if Mother could understand him. of course Mother did. "Nyke Daenerys Jelmāzmo hen Targārio Lentrot, hen Valyrio Uēpo ānogār iksan. Valyrio muño ēngos ñuhys issa," Mother told him, striking fear into his heart, so much so that he ordered Mother's new men to kill her. Luckily for her, they listened to her now, not him. "Dracarys," Mother told her, and she obeyed. 

 Throwing her head back, she belched out a steady stream of fire from her belly, effectively burning the despicable bald man to death. 

* * *

 Oberyn shot his eyes open when he realized that Sansa was no longer between himself and Ellaria. Seeing that his paramour was still sound asleep, he gently crept off the bed and walked around their chambers to look for his missing wife. She was not in the privy, nor was she in the study. Thankfully, he found her on the balcony, looking out into the Narrow Sea. He could have sworn that her eyes had appeared to be highly luminous in the dark of the night. 

 "You will get a chill if you stay out here in the sea-air for too long," he whispered into her ear as he wound his sculpted arms around her waist. She turned towards him for a short kiss, then turned her eyes back towards the sea. "Do you like the sea?" he asked her,  twanting to know that lied in her thoughts. 

 "In the North, the nearest anyone could come to the sea was Bear Island for the Mormonts, Eastwatch-by-the-Sea for the Night's Watch or in White Harbour," Sansa answered. "The Narrow Sea was the first thing I wanted to see when I first came here. Lord Baelish even said that he'd bring me to the Vale away on his ship from King's Landing before you came here..." There was a short pause on her part, and she let loose a heavy breath that she must have had kept in her chest for too long. "I saw her," she proclaimed. "I saw her in a port-city, Princess Daenerys Targaryen." 

 "What did you see?" he asked her. 

 "She was... buying soldiers with one of her dragons," she answered. "But she had the soldiers' master burned when the deal was done. They wore leather armor and had round shields... She called them 'Dovaogēdys' in High Valyrian..." 

 Oberyn's face darkened. "Unsullied," he translated for her. "You saw her in Astapor, buying Unsullied?" Sansa nodded her head, but she could not comprehend what that had entailed. Her education as a lady did not encompass the economic activities of Slaver's Bay a world away from Winterfell. "Unsullied are militant eunuchs, boys who were snatched from their cradles, castrated and trained for war. They obey every command that their masters give them..." However, there was one thing that he could not understand as of yet. Which beast's mind did she enter when Daenerys Targaryen was buying her Unsullied? "Sansa, what did you warg into?"

 "I... I don't know," she answered. "All I know is I saw what happened and everything started burning." 

 Oberyn understood her confusion. She could have seen the scene from a bird flying overhead, or from the eyes of a horse. She needed time to learn how to warg correctly and there was no one else alive that could teach her. Until then all that she would see random images from random events, and hopefully, one or two of them would have anything to do with their ventures. They were lucky thus far. She had first seen Robb and now Daenerys Targaryen. 

 He was now at a standstill. He did not know if he should tell her that her ability to warg had definitely changed how the game was to be played. Varys had implied heavily that she should be encouraged to try to control any of the dragons, but none of them knew the toll that it would create on her. He would not put an unknown risk upon her, and rode on hope that one day Daenerys would learn how to master her dragons faster than Sansa would have learned how to master her own gifts. 

 "Patience," he told her, turning to face her, his hands squeezing her shoulders gently. "Do not force yourself." 

 "I need the practice," she told him, with a new resolve. "I can't just let my mind wander like this when I least expect it." 

 "So you are telling me that you wish to go to Essos, present yourself before Daenerys Targaryen and tell her that you are a skinchanger and you can help her bring her dragons to heel?" Oberyn asked her, hoping that she could see the futility of what she was attempting to do. "That would not sit well on anyone, my dear wife." 

 For the first time in her life, Sansa frowned and glared, at Oberyn, no less. "I don't mean that, I..." She was so frustrated that her words failed her and she could just stare at him. He had never seen greater beauty although he understood that it was a completely irrelevant time to be making such a comment.  With her back against the light from the hearth behind her, her hair seemed to glow like shiny copper and her eyes large like saucers in her tiny bout of anger. She was not completely angry at him, only marginally so. 

 "Come now," he said, gently coaxing her back into his arms. "Perhaps you should start with something small, like a cat?" He chuckled when she wrinkled her nose a little. "Or a dog, maybe?"

 Sansa sighed. "I once had a direwolf," she reminisced, "Her name was Lady and she was the sweetest thing. But... Joffrey got into a fight with Arya and when hers bolted off, the Queen had Lady killed as punishment instead." She wondered if it was... suitable to reveal that Arya's direwolf and Oberyn's second daughter shared the same name and decided to opt out of doing it. She knew how taken he was with Robb's Grey Wind, and if Lady was alive, no doubt that he would have doted on her as well. 

 "Perhaps one day, your sister's direwolf will reappear," Oberyn told her soothingly. "Your brother holds the Westerlands and the Riverlands, maybe Robb's men would have spotted her?" Seemingly comforted, Sansa nodded and sank her head onto his chest. She was beginning to trust him more and more, and had wordlessly yearned more bodily contact with him. For that, he was glad. When she yawned, he asked her, "Shall we go back to bed then?"

 Once Sansa nodded her head, he put one arm on her back and used the other to lift her off her feet, like how he had carried her on their wedding night. Gently, he put her back onto the bed, next to Ellaria and plopped himself next to her, hoping that his wife would at least find some restful sleep that night. 

* * *

 

 "Robb Stark has executed Walder Frey," Tywin Lannister read the latest report from Westerlands. "In exchange for his life, the Freys are allowed safe passage in the Riverlands and in the North. They're scattered like the wind now." 

 "And who holds the Twins now?" Oberyn asked, feigning concern. "Another virile grandfather with... two hundred children?" Tyrion was the only one who laughed at his joke. They even clinked their goblets together as good measure of their appreciation for some light humor that was so dearly needed in the Small Council. 

 Cersei rolled her eyes while Tywin ignored the two of them completely. "To answer your question, Prince Oberyn, a Northern lord known as Jon Umber, a man so large that they call him the Greatjon, has been rewarded with the Twins by Robb Stark, gifted from the bosom of the Riverlands," Varys said. "I believe that Edmure Tully seceded command of the Riverlands to his nephew and so Robb Stark is both King in the North  _and_  King of the Trident now." 

 "They're all but empty titles," Cersei countered. "He can't just strut up and down the world, thinking that he is some sort of savior of the people." 

 "And yet, dear sister, it's his name that they're singing songs with out there, and not ours," Tyrion retaliated. "It won't be a good thing for us if they believe that he can be their savior." 

 "We'll have to put those songs out then," Cersei continued. "Everyone who's singing his praises will have their tongues cut out." 

 "Then you won't have anyone else singing yours," Tyrion fired back. "It's a simple enough concept, you know." 

 "Enough," Tywin chided his children. "Varys, what news from the North?"

 Varys let out a small hum. "Meage Mormont is still on her way to Winterfell to resack it in the name of her King and thus cleansing it of Boltons and/or Ironborn," he answered. "The Mormonts of Bear Island are stalwart supporters of Robb Stark and they'll be sure to hold Winterfell until a Stark returns to it." 

 All eyes fell towards Oberyn for that one second, and it was a moment that he did not relish. With Robb's growing strength, Sansa was seen to be a greater danger to the Iron Throne. If not for the fact that Dorne was also promised the head of the killer of Elia Martell and her children, there was nothing left to guarantee that Oberyn would spirit Sansa back to her family. The suspicion was there, Oberyn knew. They would only be able to conceal Dorne's involvement with the Starks for only so long. 

 "I've had the most lovely confession from my Sansa last night," Oberyn commented. "She held me in her white arms and said me, 'You are my family now'" It was the truth, and it seemed to have calmed the Small Council down somewhat. Maester Pycelle even added that he always found Sansa to be sweet and good-natured. "Don't worry, my lords, you've charged Sansa with me and she is now Sansa Martell." Although, he mused to himself, Sansa Martell could be even more dangerous than Sansa Stark, once she has acclimatized to her role as a Dornish princess, but they did not need to know that. 

 Just then, as the tone of the meeting was about to return to one of seriousness, a Lannister knight came into the room. "My Lord Hand, Ser Jaime's returned," the Knight reported. Contrary to conventional wisdom, Cersei did not react immediately to the news. "He was brought back by Lady Brienne of Tarth, who was in the service of Lady Catelyn Stark." 

 "This council is adjourned," Tywin muttered hastily and quickly went out the door with his children following him closely at his heels.

 Things were indeed getting more and more interesting, Oberyn told himself and shared a knowing look with Varys.

* * *

 "What news do you have from Essos?" Oberyn asked Varys on the way out of the chambers. They were in Lannister territory still, which also meant that there were less ears to catch anything said between them. The spies were all sent to the other corners where those of their concern were populated. 

 "I'd say nothing new. The little birds are quiet, although there was word that she's already arrived in Astapor," Varys replied. "Why do you ask?"

 "I'd imagine that my brother-in-law is getting anxious, holed up in the lion's den," Oberyn answered. "He's getting so restless that he's sent his forces back to Winterfell." 

 Varys nodded. "Patience is the virtue that what young monarchs lack," he reasoned. "The wolf howls and the lion roars and we're all trapped wondering why we're always talking in animal metaphors. Those in Essos must think that we're a crazy bunch of people to do so." Such was the charm of Varys, his clever way with words, his innate ability to downplay his true intentions and capabilities. 

 "It will be an interesting song for the minstrels to sing," Oberyn replied. "Westeros is nothing but a large jungle filled with animals waiting to tear each other apart. You know, in Essos, they do think that we Westerosi are the barbarians and not the other way around?"

 Varys raised an eyebrow towards Oberyn. "You seem to be very knowledgeable about Essos, did you spend much time there?" The eyes and ears of the spies around them must not know that they are familiar with one another. Thus, the opening conversation between two seemingly unfamiliar people must be started. But, it was the truth that he was rather intrigued. Although Dorne often traded with various territories in Essos, he did not expect Oberyn to be so familiar with the lands across the Narrow Sea. 

 "Five years," Oberyn answered. When Varys asked why he spent the time there, he continued, "'Tis a big and beautiful world. Most of us live and die in the same corner where we were born and never get to see any of it. I don't want to be most of us." 

 "Most of us aren't princes," Varys replied. He did have a point though, and Oberyn rested his case. He was a second son who had joined the Second Sons in Essos, albeit a very rich and powerful second son. He had only known a life of freedom and privilege, as most nobles in the Seven Kingdoms would and he had no shame of that. 

 However, Oberyn was not quite done with Varys. "You're from Essos," he told the eunuch. "Where? Lys?" Varys' slightly startled reaction was indication that he was right. "I have an ear for accents," he explained. 

 "I've lost my accent entirely," Varys said. 

 "I've an ear for that as well," came the reply. " _How_  did you get here?" For one, people in Westeros did not trust their strangers not of their lands, and there Varys was. The Master of Whisperers serving the third king in a row. 

 "It's a long story," Varys answered warily. 

 "One that you don't like telling people." 

 "People I trust." No doubt, Tyrion Lannister would be one of them. Oberyn was not blind. Although they acted like they had nothing to do with one another, he could sense a pact of camaraderie between the two. It lied in the subtle exchanged glances during meetings, the way that they would roll their eyes whenever Cersei tried to be clever. 

 "You should come to our chambers," Oberyn said, giving him an open invitation. "My paramour, Ellaria and Sansa would find you very interesting." He had not thanked Varys for giving Sansa the salve for her whip-wounds yet, and would use his visit as an opportunity to do so. "We've brought our own wine, not the swill you serve here," he added, trying to sweeten the deal. "We have some lovely boys on retainer..."  He came to a pause because for whatever reason, Varys did not respond when he said "boys", and there he was, thinking that he was an expert in reading others. "You did like boys before...?" 

 Varys shook his head. There was no need for him to elaborate further. As they spoke, they passed through the throne room and both stopped subconsciously quite near the Iron Throne. 

 "Girls, hmm," Oberyn murmured. "I hope that you won't be offended when I say I never would have guessed." 

 "Not at all," Varys returned. But then he just shrugged and added, "But, I've never been interested in girls either." 

 Now, Oberyn did not believe him. "What then?" he asked. "Everyone's interested in something..."  

 Varys shook his head again. "Nothing," he said plainly. "When I've seen what desire has done to people, what it's done to this country, I am very glad not to have any part of it. Besides, the absence of desire leaves me free to pursue other things." His various spars with Petyr Baelish came to mind, the most recent one ending just right where he now stood with Oberyn. Baelish had revealed that he knew that Varys had been using his majordomo, Ros, prostitute from Winterfell to spy on him, causing him to lose his hold on Sansa just before the Lannisters received word of the Dornish suit for her hand, and just minutes after they parted with which other's company, Varys discovered that Ros was brutally murdered by Joffrey by way of crossbow. Yes, he was very, very happy not to relish in any form of desire. 

 "Such as?" Oberyn asked again, bringing Varys back to the present. 

 He did not answer. He merely looked towards the Iron Throne and left Oberyn's company with a formal nod and a brief pause. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delayed update. Work was a bitch and I was too tired to do anything after I came home. 
> 
> I hope you liked that chunk of interaction between Oberyn and Varys. Obviously, I took it out from Episode 6 in Season 4 although we are chronologically in Season 3ish... Things have changed and so certain situations will be sped up or delayed. 
> 
> I have to admit that I'm not really comfortable in having Sansa immediately warging into Drogon or any dragon, so I'll leave her a little confused about that first scene in this chapter for now. 
> 
> Enjoy!


	14. The Royal Wedding

 "I envy you, Sansa," Margery told Sansa on the morning of her wedding. Sansa was there to wish her friend well and help her with the final preparations of being a bride, waking up just before dawn. "You're a Dornish Princess now, free as the wind and I'm to be Queen, forever bound to the Red Keep.

 "I'm still going to be here, you know," Sansa replied as she combed out Margary's hair before her maids would style it. She was to wear her hair up, with a crown made just for her. It was a beautiful piece made by the best craftsmen in King's Landing, one of the Tyrell rose intertwining with Baratheon antlers. "Oberyn has a seat on the Small Council. I don't think he's leaving anytime soon." 

 Margery smiled and held Sansa's hands in hers. "Then at least I'll still have a friend here," she said. "And perhaps you and Ellaria can show me what it means to be in bed with royalty." Her eyebrows wiggled suggestively, and in all honesty, Sansa only realized her meaning after a while and she still blushed. "Sansa, you've been married for a few weeks, surely you must have been used to it by now." In all truth, Sansa did not know what to tell Margery. She was wedded, but not bedded, however, she did experience... other things that most women had not experienced in their marriage beds before, like being caught between her husband and his paramour. 

 "It takes... a lot of getting used to with Oberyn," Sansa concluded. Now, that was the truth. There was a faint blush on her face, and Margery immediately caught her meaning. Actually, Margery looked even more beautiful with her lips upturned slightly, it as almost as if she was pouting, but not quite yet. Sansa knew from experience that when Margery had such a face on, she was in her most cunning. She was planning something in her pretty little head, Sansa was sure of it. 

 "Come now, sweet girl, I need details," Margery said when Sansa took a seat opposite her. "You are the wife of the infamous Red Viper of Dorne. How is he like in bed?" Upon her first instinct, Sansa was reluctant to say anything. She did not retreat into herself as she did when the Tyrells first invited her to tea to learn more about Joffrey, so Margery took it as a sign that she was not ill-treated. 

 Sansa gulped. She knew that she would not be able to resist Margery's pleading, so she did not even bother to. "He... is gentle and gallant," she said, not even daring to meet her friend's eyes. "Just like the princes in songs and stories." That part was the truth though. She had only known Oberyn to be a sweet and gentle husband.  

"No, sily," Margery gigged. "Does he have you and Ellaria one after the other or does he have the two of you at once?" Sansa went slack-jawed at Margery's question. In fact, she went utterly stiff just thinking about that moment when they each tried to seduce her. "Well?"

 "They..." 

 "They?" Margery tittered. "Gods, Sansa, you're such a lucky woman!"

 Thankfully, Margery's grandmother came into the chambers before Margery could press Sansa for more. "Oh, look at you, Margery, you can't find a more beautiful bride!" she exclaimed, giving her granddaughter a great hug. She even hugged Sansa too, saying, "And you, Princess Sansa, how nice of you to accompany Margery this morning." 

 Sansa smiled. "Margery's been so kind to me, I just had to see if there's anything I could help with," she said, despite still unused to being called "Princess". She often forgot that she was now a Dornish princess. It was a crutch for her, that new title of hers. For whatever reason, it made her stand a little straighter and hold her head a little higher. By then, Margery had retreated behind a screen so that her maids could help her into her wedding gown, which was another work of art in and of itself. 

Margery emerged more than just Margery, she looked every bit a Queen. The gown had train of roses at the back and silver thorns that graced her smooth, shapely back where her skin was bared, roaming throughout the bodice in the front. The color of it was one that was carefully selected, a particular shade of light green that danced dangerously into being blue. The fabric was soft and light, and Sansa could not help but wonder if the abundance of thorns on the gown was a metaphor for anything that was to come. 

 "Marvelous," Olenna said, instantly approving of Margery's look. "We women must always remember that these fine clothes we wear, how we do our hair and what jewelry we adorn ourselves with, they are our armor as men wear steel upon the battlefield. They fight in battles that are tangible, but we, we fight differently." Sansa listened intently as Olenna passed down this bit of wisdom to both she and Margery. Her mother had told her that courtesy was a lady's armor, words that had saved her in King's Landing countless times, but she realized that Olenna's words also rang true. "Let those stupid lumps hack and slash on their horses. When they realize that it takes much more than the strength of their arms to ensure the survival of the entire family, they will lay themselves at your feet."

 "Thank you, grandmother," Margery said, carefully noting that there was a slight softening of her grandmother's expression. "I'll always remember that." 

 Olenna nodded. "Oh, I won't doubt it at all," she replied. But then, she looked at Sansa and exclaimed, "Goodness, we've kept you in here for far too long, Princess Sansa! Shouldn't you hurry along and get yourself ready as well?"

 Sansa smiled and nodded. "I'll take my leave then," she said and left the Trell women after giving them quick hugs and kisses on their cheeks.

 "You can take a Wolf out of the North, but you can't take the North out of the Wolf, it seems," Olenna commented to Margery. "Your little friend is doing very well for herself since wedding into Dorne, don't you think?"

 "They seem to love her," Margery said blankly. Sansa was far luckier than her now. She had an adoring husband that came with a lovely paramour, a bastard who was actually every inch of a highborn lady given utter freedom due to her station. While she? She was going to marry the beast that Sansa had so narrowly escaped. If her grandmother's spies were to be trusted, Joffrey had taken a penchant of killing the whores that had been offered to him. The last one was tied to one of his bedposts after he had finished with her and was fired at with his crossbrow multiple times. There were bolts on her head, breasts and abdomen. Olenna had asked her to strap a concealed knife to her thighs underneath her skirts at all time after that episode. 

 "Of course they do," Olenna replied. "She's a beautiful girl. The Dornish love sad, beautiful girls most of all, the men and the women, mind. They think that they're going to free those poor creatures from a cage. This... alliance that the Martells and the Starks promised one another might not bring the results that they all want, I fear. So many of their goals depend on the success of other variables. They might as well throw themselves into the wind and see where in which direction it blows them to."

 No, the Tyrells were not fools like the Wolves and the Vipers were. They were firmly rooted to the ground. They would grow strong, just as their family words said. That way, the wind might howl in their faces, but they would only bend. They would not break.

* * *

 Every inch of the capital was decorated. How the smallfolk cheered for their new Queen as she had walked into the Great Sept of Baelor in her wedding finery. They loved her. They loved her for giving bread to the orphans, for visiting the markets with her maids to speak to the struggling merchants. They loved her because they saw her to be one of the rare, charitable noblewomen, because they believed that she had their interests in her heart. 

 How those in attendance of the ceremony cheered when Joffrey announced, "Let it be known that Margaery of House Tyrell and Joffrey of the Houses Lannister and Baratheon are one heart, one flesh, one soul!"  It seemed as if all of King's Landing had forgotten that they were still in a war. "Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder!" 

 Although it was the wedding of her close friend, Sansa could not help but to feel a tinge of sadness. She prayed to whatever Gods existed that what she suffered at Joffrey's hands would not pass to Margery. "We have a new Queen now," she muttered to both Ellaria and Oberyn when Joffrey kissed his bride. 

 Ellaria squeezed her hand in hers. "Better her than you, my love," she whispered, while Oberyn silently pressed a kiss to her shoulder. Having her husband and Ellaria by her side only made it clear that she could have been the one in Margery's place. If her brother had not consented to a Dornish alliance, she might not have been there, but she would still have to live under the yoke of the King even though Margery was there. A thousand thoughts swam through her head, and it was Ellaria's hand that made her realize that she was a little further away from the spiked caged that once held her. 

  The royal reception was an utter extravagance. It was a show, a farce as anything in King's Landing had been. Wine flowed freely, food was abundant and there was laughter. This was not King's Landing. This was an oasis of laughter and joy made real by Lannister and Tyrell gold. It was a fleeting moment that served nothing more to express the power of these two families that would be joined, a moment used to buy the joy of the people. 

 To keep up with the farce, Ellaria and Sansa took a quick change of clothes before they rejoined the wedding festivities. Ellaria had worn a daringly low-necked gown in the particular shade of yellow mixed with orange that mirrored Oberyn's suit that plunged down to her navel, revealing the gold-embroidered breast-wraps she wore with the gown. The many-tiered necklace she usually wore along with the leather cuffs she wore on her biceps were gone, and instead she wore a billowing cape with embellished shoulder-caps. Sansa, on the other hand, wore another coral gown that had a long, tight sleeve on one arm but bared the other, the skirts long and flowing like that of Ellaria's. They had spent an entire afternoon designing this dress, Sansa and Ellaria, in the company of a famous seamstress that traveled between the southern reaches of Westeros. She wore coral because Oberyn and Ellaria deemed her too fair to carry the Martell color as of yet. Her skin had too many pink tones in them that would make her sickly in too much yellow, they deemed. 

 "We will have you looking like a true Dornish princess when the sun has turned you golden," Oberyn whispered in her ear after he and Ellaria had schooled her on the fine art of mastering colors for one's wardrobe.

 The three of them all walked hand in hand, Oberyn between the two women. No doubt, the rest of the nobles that looked upon them would whisper and gossip, but since the other two showed no care or concern as to what they were talking about, Sansa paid little heed to them as well. They then chanced upon a rather skilled contortionist. "Hello," Oberyn said, which was less a greeting than it was an exclamation of intrigue. The contortionist had bent so far backwards that her head was directly beneath her knees. 

 "Oh, hello," came a disembodied voice in reply. It was a male voice and surely did not belong to the contortionist. It was Tyrion Lannister. 

 "Not you," Oberyn dismissed him, and strangely, the Imp did not respond with a barb at all. He must have had a lot on his mind for whatever reason.   
 Before long, the three of them where ushered into the area where the food had already been served. It was said that 77 courses of food would be served, and Sansa tried hard not to dismiss the extravagance for folly. She had seen the joy and the elation of the smallfolk, and then realized that the Lannisters and the Tyrells were not buying into an alliance with one another. They were buying a distraction for the smallfolk. Weddings, especially royal weddings were a time when they were given a holiday, where they would come to see the city in all its splendor, forgetting the dire straits they were in for at least a day. 

 "Sansa, you really must do something about your husband," Ellaria giggled, causing Sansa to snap out of her thoughts. Immediately, Sansa trailed her eyes towards Oberyn and found that he was smiling in a rather cheeky manner. Actually, he was not merely smiling cheekily. He was looking right towards Ser Loras Tyrell, who stood next to a ridiculous statue of a lion. Oberyn had the audacity to give the Knight of Flowers a playful, suggestive wink even as he had Ellaria on his lap and Sansa's hand on his chest. It was a gesture that Loras had no doubt appreciated. 

 "My husband is a greedy man, Ellaria," Sansa replied. "We can only hope for another to rein him in since you and I are clearly not enough for him." 

 "And who would that be?" Oberyn asked her, tipping her chin. "Pray, tell me, my lovely wife." She pondered for a moment, but he gave her no chance. His lips were already upon hers before she was able to think of a smart remark to speak against him with. Sighing lightly, she knew that she would always lose to him in any verbal sparring if she continued to be influenced by anything that he was doing. 

 They were brought back to the present by Ellaria, who gestured that they had company. The newcomer was a tall woman. Fair of skin and hair, her eyes blue like sapphires. "Princess Sansa, Prince Oberyn, I am Brienne of Tarth," she introduced herself, following a quick nod to Ellaria. "I was in the service of your lady mother, Princess. She tasked me to return Jaime Lannister to King's Landing in exchange for you and your sister... but it seems that plans changed along the way." 

 Oberyn had heard much of Brienne of Tarth. She was the one who was rumored to have killed King Renly Baratheon, but swore that she did not do so, and blamed Stannis Baratheon for Renly's death instead. Before the death of Renly, she was part of his Kingsguard, the only woman to have ever received such an honor, rebel king or no. 

 "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Brienne," Sansa greeted. "Would you like to sit with us?" Anyone who was in the service of her mother was welcome, particularly when the lions were now prowling around her. 

 "Oh, no, I can't possibly..." 

 "Lady Brienne, you must," Oberyn insisted. "I think I should take Ellaria for a walk," he annoucned, clearly leaving to give the two of them some privacy. It was a rare opportunity to have her mother's sworn sword by her side. He left Sansa with a kiss on her cheek and proceeded to openly display Ellaria to the rest of the nobles in King's Landing. 

 "Lady Catelyn will be overjoyed to see you so happily married, Princess Sansa," Brienne told Sansa as Oberyn and Ellaria left. "She did worry about your safety here for many nights." 

 Sansa nodded. "Thank you," she said to Brienne. "Although... I don't know what you should tell my mother if you should return to her service." For returning Jaime Lannister to King's Landing Brienne surely had certain immunities granted to her by her former captive, who was now reinstated as the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. However, Sansa doubted if she could return to her mother so freely. 

 "My duties are with you now, Princess," Brienne said steadfastly. "If... you would have me. I offer my services to you as your personal bodyguard." 

 Knowing that Oberyn would certainly not object to having a layer of protection around her, she consented. "Alright, you shall be my bodyguard, Lady Brienne," Sansa proclaimed. "I thank you for your service, under the condition that you would extend your protection to Ellaria as well." She believed that there was no longer any need to properly define her relation to the older woman to Brienne, since she had already seen their... dynmaics. 

 "It would be an honor, Princess," Brienne replied with a bow. "Your mother would be greatly relieved with this arrangment, I believe."  Sansa could not help but to smile a little. "I hope you're right," she said. By then Oberyn and Ellaria had already returned and the King had called for some entertainment of his own. None of them bothered to watch any of it, a troupe of hired dwarf-actors depicting each of the Five Kings in the war. 

 Oberyn had agreed to the arrangement that Sansa and Brienne had made, while Ellaria thanked Sansa for her graciousness despite her insistence that Oberyn was enough protection for her. "You are too generous, my love," Ellaria told Sansa. "Although... I hope that we do not frighten Lady Brienne too much as the days grow long." 

 Sansa knew what Ellaria had meant. Gods, she was no better than Oberyn. But then again, it was probably the reason why they were together for so long. 

 "I have seen a shadow wrought by Stannis' Shadowbinder from Asshai, L... Ellaria," Brienne clarified, fumbling on what to properly address Ellaria with. "I do not believe that I can be so easily frightened..." 

 Ellaria only smirked and slinked an arm sensually on Sansa's shoulder in the most unsubtle way. "We shall see about that, Lady Brienne." 

 For whatever reason, no one spoke after that. Sansa had half expected for Brienne to say something back to Ellaria, but even Ellaria's eyes were trained towards the main table where the Lannisters and Tyrells had sat.

 There Joffrey was, with a plate of pie in one hand, clutching at his neck with the other. His usually pale complexion was changing into a dreadful shade of purple. 

 "He's choking!" Margery shouted. 

 "Someone help the poor boy!" Olenna Tyrell cried. "Idiots, see to your king!" 

 "You don't have to see this," Oberyn told Sansa, drawing her into his arms, clearly knowing what was transpiring. 

 However, for the first time, Sansa resisted entering his embrace. "No," she said, gently, but Oberyn could see the vehemence in her eyes. "I will watch every moment of this." Watch Sansa did, commiting everything into her memory. 

 She saw Cersei frantically crying for help, cradling Joffrey as he laid choking in her arms after vomiting everything he just ate out. Jaime Lannister just barely getting to their side to give any aid he could. He failed. By the time he reached Joffrey, he was already dead. 

 In the bright afternoon sun, Sansa saw her father's killer die in the most horrible way imaginable. His eyes had turned blood-red and his throat utterly purple. Blood trickled from every orifice that he had, and no matter how hard Cersei Lannister had shouted and screamed, no help came. 

 She had waited so long for this day to come, for Joffrey to be struck down by whoever was capable of doing it, or by whatever miracle. She had thought that she would be so overjoyed that her heart would burst. Instead, all she felt was cold goosebumps all over her body, and cold within her heart. 

 There was no feeling of vindication. No hatred. No joy. 

 There was only pity. She pitied him for having to die in such indignity on his own wedding day, and she pitied herself and Robb because they did not have a hand in this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the moment which everyone is waiting for! Joffrey is finally dead, woohoo!
> 
> Once again, I'd like to point out that the Tyrells really don't care who is currently in power, they just want some of it for themselves. If Robb wanted the Iron Throne, I'm sure that Olenna would have thrown Margery towards him despite Talisa's presence, which is why Margery and Sansa are still besties despite the fact that Dorne is secretly allied with the North. 
> 
> If you miss Robb and the Northern gang, I'm sorry, but there's almost nothing to write about them. I will think of something soon, don't worry. 
> 
> Brienne actually gets to Sansa here HAH HAH HAH. 
> 
> Enjoy!


	15. Family

 "King Joffrey is dead." 

 Catelyn collapsed onto the floor the moment she heard those words from Robb. Messengers from across the Seven Kingdoms must have rallied everywhere to deliver the news. The boy who took her husband's life was dead. Relief washed over her, a sense of calm returning to her. It was as if her soul had lightened dramatically, and she could finally breathe at ease. 

 "That's not the end of our worries, Cat," Brynden Tully told her, helping her to rise. "If those blasted Lannisters can put a boy-king up on the throne, they can surely put another there." Cersei Lannisters had two sons, after all. Catelyn had no doubt seen little Tommen Baratheon before, a sweet boy who had nothing of his older brother's cruel streak. 

 "As long as it's one of Cersei Lannister's spawn, we're not out of danger," Robb proclaimed. "We will fight until the North is recognized as an independent, sovereign nation." He would no longer risk his people to the whims and fancies of other Kings. If it was the love for his people that Torrhen Stark bent the knee to Aegon the Conquerer, it would be the same love he had to his that would make him found the Kingdom of the North once again. 

 "Obara, Nymeria, any word from Oberyn?" Robb asked the Sand Snakes. 

 "Only that Jaime Lannister has returned to King's Landing and Brienne of Tarth is now sworn to Princess Sansa a..." Obara said, almost forgetting not to mention Ellaria to Sansa's family. It was a formal plea from her father's wife, that she would tell her family herself that she would be permitting Ellaria in her marriage. Nymeria gave her sister a light pinch to remind her that as well. "Oberyn has taken a seat on the Small Council and has Lannister spies flying all over him. It would take a little more... effort to get word out." 

 Robb nodded in understanding. "Do what you can then," he said. He hated to admit it, but the Sand Snakes were very capable lieutenants. He'd kept them close, but ever since they arrived, everything was kept in tip-top shape, despite the trail of... indiscretions they left behind. None of his men could seem to resist them, for they were certainly exotic rarities for the Northmen and Rivermen. After Oberyn's daughters had left, Robb turned to Catelyn, "Mother, I have something to discuss with you." 

 Together, the two of them walked towards his writing table. There laid a letter in Robb's scrawling, but legible handwriting. It was a proclamation. Catelyn read it and looked at her own son, eyes widened in shock. "You would legitimize Jon Snow?" she demanded. 

 "I can and I will," Robb said. "Kings are dying left, right and center. Rickon and Bran are dead and if Sansa inherits, the North would be passed to the Martells. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell." Jon was raised next to him, even if his mother despised him. Ned Stark had always said that Jon was of their blood, and that made him a Stark. "Mother, I don't even know if Talisa is carrying a son or not. If anything happens..."

 Catelyn sighed. The Starks were a powerful family, but they were running out of family. With their grandfather, uncle and father killed by two separate mad kings, their aunt and two three other siblings dead, Robb and Sansa were the only ones left. They needed Jon. "He's joined the Night's Watch, Robb," Catelyn reasoned. "He's sworn an oath. He cannot inherit even if you made him a Stark." 

 Robb knew this. Starks have joined the Night's Watch for generations. "Then he'll be another Stark there just the same," he said. "Mother, I know that this is hard for you, but... we can't shut Jon off because of what Father did." Seeing so much death and war changed his perspective. The fact that he was soon to be a father changed his perspective. The past few years had taken such a toll on him that he knew that he could not go on without holding all that he held dear as close to him as possible. "That's Father's mistake and the Gods know that he's been punished enough for it before he died." 

 Catelyn knew that she could not change Robb's decision. He was as stubborn as Ned was. "Fine, do whatever you like," she said. Stark or not, Jon was never going to change the fact that Robb not only had to shoulder the responsibility of reasserting the independence of the North, but also to recreate the Stark dynasty. She knew that she should not be angry at her son. He meant well, and he was at a difficult time in his life. He could not have known about the... sheer injustice it was to her to see Jon  _Snow_  being raised side by side her own children. A son of her own husband that was not hers. Her husband could have had him cared for, far out of her sight even if he acknowledged him, but her husband brought him home to Winterfell. 

 "Mother..." Robb groaned, but Catelyn was already out the door before he could say anything. Before long, there was another knock on the door and he said, "Come in."

 "Your mother stormed out rather quickly," Talisa said as she came into their chambers. "Did you show her the..." 

 "Yes, but I didn't know that she'd take it so badly," Robb replied, covering his face in his hands, his elbows resting on the table. "I don't understand.... Jon's like a brother to me."

 Talisa put her arms around her husband comfortingly and asked, "Well imagine if I had a son with another lord, a kitchen-boy even. Would you be willing to raise him as your own?" 

 Robb groaned again. "I wouldn't," he said, knowing that Talisa's example was a very good one indeed. "But..." 

 "I know that you mother is not the easiest one to talk to," she said. "But give her time. She isn't one to easily trust and relent, not when what you're doing seems like such a slap to her face." She spoke from experience. When Talisa first appeared in the camps as a healer and Catelyn sniffed out the growing tension between her and Robb, Catelyn had refused to speak to her beyond the bounds of courtesy. When Catelyn found out that she and Robb had wedded in secret, Catelyn had openly scowled at her. In short, Catelyn Stark was an overbearing woman who would fight against everything that went against her until she could no longer fight it. She would fight for the sake of fighting and would only stop until it suited her. Talisa was an outsider, and of course, she would have an outsider's view of her mother-in-law. It was true that she loved her children and her family. A loving mother was never vengeful. 

"Are there bastards in Volantis as well?" Robb asked her. "What do wives do with them?"

"Wives would do what they can do protect their own children," Talisa told Robb. "As your mother would have done." It was not an entirely false statement. But the truth was that Volantene men married many women if they were rich. When concubinage was rampant, there were few bastards, save for the children of slaves that their masters had taken to bed. In whatever case, wives and their children would scheme against the concubines and theirs. She was lucky that her father had only one wife and she and her brother were loved. 

 Robb took an exceptionally long draw of breath and passed the letter to Talisa. "Give this to the maester. Tell him to send this proclamation to Oldtown, so the Citadel can pass the news throughout the Seven Kingdoms," he instructed Talisa. "Mother won't like it, but Jon's family. We can't leave him out in the dark, Knight's Watch or no." 

 Talisa nodded and gave him a kiss on the cheek before she left to see the maester of Casterly Rock. 

* * *

 "Princess, why didn't you want to join the Prince and Ellaria?" Brienne asked Sansa as they walked back from the Godswood of the Red Keep. 

 "Oh, whatever they're doing doesn't... interest me," Sansa replied. She knew precisely where Oberyn and Ellaria were going. They had been invited by Littlefinger's new majordomo, Olyvar, to attend an orgy, an arrangement with several other nobles and of course, choice employees of the pleasure house. Since she was still inexperienced in these matters, she decided to decline her invitation. 

 Brienne sighed. "It must be hard for you, having to put up with your husband's lover," she said. 

 "Please don't say that, Brienne," Sansa pleaded. "Ellaria's only been sweet and kind to me ever since I met her. Quite frankly, I'm the one that's intruding on their relationship. They've four daughters together, you know." She had meant every word that she had said to them, that once she had become Oberyn's wife, she had considered Ellaria part of her family as well. She would not have it any other way, and she did hope that one day, she would be able to admit them both into her bed, not only because they were clearly very beautiful and seductive creatures, because she owed so much to them. 

 Brienne could only obey Sansa's wishes although she did not understand them. "Most women would see this as a great injustice," she continued. "Even your lady mother would." 

 "My mother was furious when my father brought our bastard brother back home from the war," Sansa continued. "She resented Jon, and never wanted him in her sight if she could. But Father loved him as much as he dared to. Ellaria's a bastard too. Seeing her for the first time... it made me sad because I remembered how poorly I treated Jon in Winterfell, because I only thought to follow Mother." If she could have another chance, she swore to herself that she would make things right with Jon Snow. She would apologize to him and she would embrace him as a brother. 

 Brienne sighed. "You are too kind, Princess," she commented. "But, I think that kindness is not a bad thing to have. It's just that..." 

 "Mother won't have expected me to have this kind of marriage," Sansa finished for Brienne. "But, it's the one I've got." On the surface, she might have entered this marriage because she had no choice, like all the other high-born brides since time immemorial. It was for the alliance between her brother and Dorne, some people would say. It was so that the Lannisters could well be rid of her, others would say. For whatever reason, she personally felt that this match had been a blessing of the Gods. 

 "Do you love them?" Brienne asked her. "If... if you don't mind me asking, Princess..."

 Love? Did she love them? They brought her into their arms so openly, even when she had nothing to give them. They welcomed her into their lives. Did they love her? Was it love or was it duty? Was it even politics? No, she could not answer. Not right now. 

 "I... don't know," Sansa replied, truthfully. "It's all jumbled up right now." 

 Brienne sighed. "Well, I suppose that you'll have your whole life to figure that out," she said. "Take things one step at a time." 

 "Yes, that would be a wise thing to do, I suppose," Sansa concluded. "Mother and Robb though..." 

 "They'll come around, Princess, don't worry," Brienne told her. "Once they know that you're safe and happy, all they'll be asking is when you're going to have your baby." 

 Sansa gulped. "I... don't think I'm ready for a baby just yet," she said. She was only 16, and for whatever reason, she did not feel as if she wanted to have that kind of responsibility yet. 

 "I understand, Princess," Brienne reckoned. "Trust me, I do. People think that women should all wear pretty dresses and dance and flounce about ballrooms. Look at me. I was never that kind of girl, but I've found my footing. Maybe you can be a different sort of Princess when you've found your way." 

 "Maybe..." Sansa mused. She had spent her whole life dreaming of what she had now, although she would have never wanted such a fate for herself upon hindsight. Yet, now when her father's killer was already dead and the stalemate between Robb's and the Lannister armies ensured that there was a watchful ceasefire for the time being, she could not help but feel more and more... alive. 

 "Ah, there you are!" Turning around to find Oberyn and Ellaria not far behind her, Sansa smiled and walked towards them. Oberyn was all smlies, and even twirled her around for good measure. Once she had her feet on the ground, Ellaria gave her a kiss on the cheek and the three of them were walking hand in hand again, with Brienne a respectable distance behind them. 

 However, after the seemingly joyful reunion between them, Sansa saw that Oberyn's brow had become furrowed. There was a certain tightness in the way he had laced his fingers through hers. "Is there anything wrong?" she asked her husband. "Oberyn?"

 "Lord Tywin visited us halfway through our... festivities," Oberyn explained. Although he had openly told Sansa what their afternoon agenda had entailed, he still felt he needed to dance around the subject.  "He told me that his son Tyrion Lannister was suspected for the murder of King Joffrey. He wanted me to sit on the trial as one of the three judges." There seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary. Oberyn had represented Dorne's neutrality on the Small Council, and it would be a logical choice for him to be one of the judges. "He has also informed me that you will be called up as a witness in the trial." 

 Sansa blinked. "Me?" she asked. "But I've nothing..." 

 "He says that you've seen much of the interactions between the Imp and Joffrey," Oberyn continued. "They would listen to what you have to say in the trial as well." 

 Nodding her head, Sansa knew what must be done. Since Tywin Lannister had so blatantly asked for her, there was no way that she could have shirked from being placed into such a predicament. "This trial will be a farce though," she commented. "The Queen  _hates_  Lord Tyrion as much as Joffrey liked torturing small animals." 

 Ellaria chuckled at her analogy. "You are more talented in playing this wretched game than you think you are, my love," she told Sansa. It was not the first time that anyone had told her that. Oberyn had suggested that she should try to speak to Robb to being his advisor, but she had told him that she had no wish to be a player at all. "You will be fine." 

 "Will you be attending, Ellaria?" Sansa asked. 

 "Unlike you, I have  _no_  real interest in these matters," Ellaria answered. "I will spend the afternoon with Brienne, I think. She seems like an interesting girl, no?"

 The silence that surrounded them was affirmation enough. "When is the trial?"

 "Two days from now," Oberyn answered. 

 "I can't wait," Sansa rolled her eyes in mock excitement. 

 In the evening, Oberyn decided out of the blue that he would spar with Brienne. After all, he had to see for himself her prowess with the sword. At six feet and two inches, Brienne was taller than even him. She was built differently than most women. Her body was built for strength, but years and years of cowing others into submission with it has left her without style or finesse. There was no wonder now that she had defeated Ser Loras Tyrell back in the day. She simply beat him up until he yielded. 

 "You are in severe need of retraining, Brienne," Oberyn told her after he had her lying flat on her back, his spear pointed towards her neck. He helped her to stand and continued, "You have the skill, but not the style of a proper warrior." 

 "I'm sorry if I don't dance about the ring like you do, Prince Oberyn," Brienne replied, trying not to let his comment get under her skin. "Do all you Dornishmen fight like you do though?"

 Oberyn smirked. "Not as well as I do," he replied. "Nevertheless, you interest me, Brienne of Tarth. We should spar more often. Maybe I can help you knock out all the bad habits you've had training with men who obviously had less skill than you." Brienne was now Sansa's sworn sword, charged to protect herself and Ellaria. If the lives of his wife and paramour were in her hands, he would have her become a better fighter than she already was. Besides, he needed the exercise anyways. 

 "I am your humble servant, Prince Oberyn," Brienne said, bowing as she consented to his suggestion. There was no harm in getting more practice, after all. 

 "Maybe after some time, you will be able to truly best the Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister, in a fair fight," Oberyn added. Sansa had recounted to him a tale from Brienne that she had overcome Jaime Lannister on a bridge, despite him being one of the best fighters in Westeros. "How you've managed to keep him in chains for so long is a marvel in itself, I assure you." 

 "I simply never let him out," Brienne explained. "There's nothing much to it, really." 

 "The very fact that you can listen to his golden tongue singing his Lannister songs and not be swayed is very impressive," Oberyn elaborated. "They have a gift for trying to talk themselves out of every difficult siutation, I assure you." Brienne tried to smile at his remark, but in the end, the smile had vanished. "You should smile more, Brienne," he said, adding more to a list of things that she should do from him. "You're a fair lady when you do." 

 "My prince, I'm not a lady," Brienne emphasized. "I've never wanted to be, nor can I ever will." 

 Shaking his head, Oberyn replied. "You are Brienne of House Tarth. Denying that is like me denying that I'm a lusty Dornishman from the south. Others might not have treated you with grace like a proper lady but you need not turn yourself into a stoic man just because don't see you as one. That would make those fools right in what they say about it. My daughters are all trained for battle and they wear beautiful gowns when they  _need_  to." He placed emphasis on the word "need" because Obara was the least feminine of all his daughters, but even she would put on a dress if she was required to by duty. "You can be a knight and a lady at the same time." 

 "I... I've never thought about it that way, my prince," Brienne stammered. "Thank you." 

 "Don't mention it," Oberyn replied. "Now, we must see what my loves are up to. They'll be plotting the death of me if we're not careful." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to show some family dynamics in this chapter. We have the Starks, where Catelyn is sub-consciously acting as an overbearing mother, and Brienne, wondering all sorts of things about Sansa, Oberyn and Ellaria. And no, Oberyn is not trying to seduce Brienne. He's just being a good human being and boss. 
> 
> For whatever reason, because Roose Bolton was not in Harrenhal in this fic, I decided to keep Jaime Lannister's hand. 
> 
> Yes, Sansa will be involved with the trial, but she's not a suspect. 
> 
> I'm not sorry that I skipped the orgy, but it was completely unnecessary in a fic where Sansa's in the center. Don't worry, we'll have others to make up for it. I hope. 
> 
> Enjoy!


	16. The Trial

 "Sansa, it's time to wake, my love," Ellaria said, giving Sansa's shoulder a gentle shake. 

 Opening her eyes lazily, Sansa yawned. "What time is it?" she asked, rising to stretch lazily. Oberyn was still asleep, lightly snoring. She realized that he had a habit of not rising early and would be awake deep into the night. Ellaria had told her it was actually the real reason he was called the Red Viper, because vipers would laze in the sun for hours before going out to hunt at night. 

 "Slightly after dawn. The trial will start at high noon." 

 "I'll need to have a bath," Sansa proclaimed. Luckily for her, Ellaria already had a bath already drawn for her in the next room. For whatever reason, the tub there was an exceptionally large one, enough to fit two comfortably, she reckoned. 

 She had shooed all the maids out. She wanted to have a quiet moment to herself, where she could think properly. She was going to stand as a witness at the trial later, but there was something that made her feel uneasy. Up until now, she had been in the throne room and everything that transpired then was a disaster for her. Countless beatings, countless taunts and humiliations. 

 Knowing full well that she should not dwell on the past, Sansa reached for the jug but found there was nothing there. Instead, she felt Oberyn's hand upon the crown of her head. "Let me wash your hair for you," he offered as he set on the bench next to the tub. She looked into his dark eyes and gave him a brief nod. Carefully, he poured a jug-full of water over her head and took brief glance at her back. The lashes had completely healed, but he knew that although they would no longer hurt her, they would forever remind her of the day that her brother triumphed over the Lannisters by taking their ancestral home. 

 Oberyn had skillful hands. After he lathered her hair with a little bit of soap, he piled everything onto her head and started to comb his fingers through the mess of her soapy hair, raking his fingernails upon her scalp ever so slightly. She had never washed her hair like that before, and instantly felt like it was a welcome change

 "Maybe, you should do this every time I have a bath," she mused, earning a chuckle from him. "What's so funny?" she asked. 

 "Then I shall add hair-washing to my husbandly duties then," he said, pressing his lips to her forehead. He knew that she caught him glancing downwards. He had not seen her fully naked before, and she did not deprive him of what he would have seen sooner or later. After he was done washing her hair, she turned around to face him, standing tall before him. "Has anyone told you how beautiful you are?" he asked his wife. 

 Although she knew that she must have been as red as a beet, Sansa shook her head. "You are the first," she told him. All her life, she had only seen the beauty of others. Cersei, although getting on in age, was one of the legendary beauties of Westeros. Margery, Ellaria, they were all beautiful women. But she? What qualities did she have for her husband, with his vast experience... "Could... could you tell me why?"

 Taking a deep intake of air, Oberyn held her by her hips. "Let's start from your hair, Sansa," he proclaimed. "You are kissed by fire, as you say it in the North?" He looked up to his wife and smirked when she nodded. "Then, your breasts... they are round and high." As he spoke, he brought his hands to her breasts, cupping each in his hands. "Your skin, it's white as milk..." 

 Sansa closed her eyes as he continued praising her body. His hands were coarse, callous, leaving a delicious sensation upon contact. He kissed her navel and his hands went further down, there her womanhood resided, protected by tufts of red hair. A rush of excitement entered her, blooming from her gut and straight to her heart. He pulled her closer to him by way of her pert buttocks and began to kiss the folds of the skin that hid her... her... what  _did_  Septa Mordane call it when she was undergoing her "bridal training" on the way to King's Landing from Winterfell?

 Ah, she remembered. Maesters had called that part of the woman's anatomy the "clitoris", Septa Mordane liked to call it the "pearl" or the "flower". Whatever it was, she felt a jolt of electricity when Oberyn's tongue touched that sensitive nub of flesh, and her knees had almost buckled. She was anchored only by his hands on her hips. 

 "Ellaria will be jealous of me," he hummed, looking up at her. "For I got the first taste of you." He then rose from the stool and asked, "Do you wish for me to continue

 "Will... will we be late for the trial?" 

 "Yes, most definitely," Oberyn almost growled. "I want to savor every part of you, my beautiful wife." 

 "We shouldn't then," Sansa reasoned, kissing the corner of his lips. There was a sigh of relief when she feel the tightness in her body abate slowly. However, just after he helped her out of the tub, he seized her in his arms and kissed her hungrily. 

 He smirked. "You are too trusting," he teased her and helped her to wrap a towel around herself to dry off. She gave him a little pout, but noticed that his expression had become grave. "When you are out there, do not be afraid," he told her. Now, his head was crooked against the arch of her neck, his arms around her waist. "I will be there and they would not dare do anything to you." 

 "I know," she nodded, raking a hand through his hair. She was not afraid. The person that made her life in King's Landing a living hell had already been cremated. She knew that no one would be foolish enough to harm her in his presence. But, having him as a judge there, although it was impossible that he could do anything to actually help her. He had to be fair, after all. "What did Lord Tywin say to you before you said yes to being the third judge?"

 "Nothing escapes you indeed," he told her. "Perhaps you have one of Varys' little birds in your employ..." 

 "Oberyn," Sansa pleaded. Dorne did not need solidarity with the Iron Throne for long, so even if Tywin had acted to have needed Dorne, it was not reason enough for Oberyn to have consented. There must have been another reason. A reason was able to move even him. 

 Sighing, Oberyn knew that there was no escape from such a questioning gaze from his wife. Her eyes were too large and they were too blue, reminding him of the winter's moon. "Lord Tywin promised an opportunity to meet with Gregor Clegane," he admitted. "Then, I will bring justice to the one who killed my sister." 

 Strangely, she did not react to the news at all. She took everything calmly and asked, "Will you kill him?" 

 "Yes," he replied. "I have been waiting for the opportunity for twenty years." 

 "If it comes to that, you must keep your head," she told him. She held either cheek in her hand and touched her forehead with his. She remembered watching the Mountain during the Tourney of the Hand. She remember he had hewn the head of his mare in one clean stroke after Ser Loras unhorsed him. Arya later told her that she had learned from her "dancing master" that only the most skillful swordsmen could kill in one blow. If her husband would one day fight such a beast, she could only hope and pray that he would survive. 

 Oberyn gave her his consent with a soft, chaste kiss. "You have my word," he promised her. "My head belongs to  you, Ellaria, my family and Dorne. I'll not throw it away so lightly." 

* * *

 

 At high noon, Sansa had entered the throne room hand in hand with Oberyn. Ellaria had decided that she should make a new point with her dress, and thus, had her dress in a mauve gown which had a slim cut skirt that bared her shoulders and tight sleeves. She wore yellow jewels, their shade the exact match of the Martell yellow in her hair, rhinestones, actually, not that anyone could tell. 

 "Show those bastards that Sansa Stark is no longer afraid of them," Ellaria had told her before they left their chambers. Sansa had been so thankful that she'd given the older woman a light kiss on her lips. 

 There were whispers when they entered. Lords and ladies looked at Sansa and turned towards one another. They were the same faces that she had seen the last time Joffrey had beaten her. Oh yes, she remembered every one of them. 

 "To think that she was once betrothed to the King," one of the ladies spat in a seemingly hushed voice, hiding her face behind a fan. "Now look at her, wrapped up in Dornish silks with a viper at her arm. I'd be surprised that it wasn't her that did it." 

 Sansa had to fight the urge to openly proclaim that she had wished to be the one that ended Joffrey's life. Oberyn had no doubt sensed that urged and kissed her temple when they reached her seat. "Peace, Sansa," he whispered into her ear. "If... any trouble comes, remember that I am here." 

 "I will," she replied and watched as her husband took his place as the third judge of the trial. Sansa watched as the King moved quietly to his seat upon the Iron Throne. Tommen Baratheon was a young boy. He was not vicious like his brother was, and this made him easier to be molded by those around him. 

 Tyrion Lannister was then brought into the throne room, shackled and manacled. He was led to the podium and was firmly chained onto it by two of the Kingsguard. Sansa momentarily met his eyes and gave him a quick nod. Unlike the rest of the Lannisters, Tyrion had once stopped Joffrey from beating her. It was a particularly harrowing episode where Joffrey had the Kingsguard to strip her of her clothes, although they only managed to rip her outer dress. She would not count him as one of her enemies. 

 "I, Tommen of the House Baratheon, First of my name, King of the Andals and the First Men and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, do hereby recuse myself from this trial," King Tommen said once Tyrion was in place. It was the first farce in the list of farces that would occur that day, Sansa was sure of it. "Tywin of House Lannister, Hand of the King, Protector of the Realm, will sit as judge in my stead and with him Prince Oberyn of the House Martell and Lord Mace of the House Tyrell, and if found guilty, may the Gods punish the accused." With those words, the second boy-King moved away from the throne room with his guards, leaving Tywin to preside over the trial. 

 "Tyrion of House Lannister, you stand accused by the Queen Regent of regicide," Tywin proclaimed. "Did you kill King Joffrey?"

 "No," Tyrion answered blankly. Despite his imprisonment in the Black Cells, he seemed to have not lost his usual wit and humor. Sansa wondered how long that would hold out for. Her father had entered those cells a man on the hunt and he had emerged the prey. She wondered what gave Tyrion so much fortitude which her father could not have. 

 "Did anyone else?" Tywin asked further. 

 "Not that I know of," Tyrion replied just as simply. 

 "How would you say that he died then?"

 "Choked on his pigeon pie."

 "So you blame the bakers." 

 "Or the pigeons, just leave me out of it." 

 Tyrion was still defiant. His spirit had not been broken. Knowing that they would be in for a long ordeal, Tywin sank deeper into the Iron Throne. Sansa was appalled. When he was Hand of the King, Ned Stark had told her that it was the most uncomfortable chair there was to sit upon. It poked his body in countless areas, and yet Tywin sat on it as if it was made with plush satin. 

 "The crown may call it's first witness," Tywin said. Ser Meryn Trant of the Kingsguard was summoned and stood at the witness' podium. 

 "Once we'd got King Joffrey safely away from the mob, the Imp rounded on him," Ser Meryn said. "He slapped the King in the face and called him a vicious idiot and a fool." There were gasps all over, while Sansa rolled her eyes. "It wasn't the first time the Imp threatened Joffrey," he continued. "Right here, in this throne room, he marched up those steps and called our king a halfwit. He compared His Grace to the Mad King and suggested that he'd meet the same fate, and when I spoke in the king's defense, he threatened to have me killed."

 Tyrion interrupted Ser Meryn by asking, "Oh, why don't you tell them what Joffrey was doing?"

 "Silence!" Tywin called. 

 "He pointed a loaded crossbow at  _Princess_  Sansa  _Martell_  while you tore at her clothes and beat her!" Tyrion countered, knowing for sure that Oberyn would react. 

 "Is this true?" Oberyn demanded coolly, looking directly at Ser Meryn. He knew that Sansa had been beaten, but she had never told him or Ellaria how. He could only see the scars and she spoke nothing of them. 

 "My Prince..." 

 "The crown calls it's second witness, Princess Sansa of House Martell, formerly of House Stark," Tywin said before Ser Meryn could add anything. Immediately, Ser Meryn was led aside and Sansa was brought to where he stood. 

 "What Lord Tyrion said was true," Sansa said calmly. She had been crying that time, sobbing uncontrollably. Turning around, she showed the judges where she had been beaten. There was a thin, black line just below where her dress had began. She could not see Oberyn's face, but she knew he would be seething in rage. "Ser Meryn hit me here with the back of his sword."

 Mace Tyrell gasped. "My dear Princess, were you still... betrothed to King Joffrey at the time?" he asked. 

 "Yes, Lord Mace," Sansa replied. "His Grace was kind and accepting although I had traitor's blood. He was only angry because my brother won the battle at Oxcross against his armies. Lord Tyrion even offered to resolve the betrothal for me, but I told him not to. I wanted to erase my family's sins and show them that there are Northerners who are loyal to the crown." 

 All this while, she had looked at Tywin Lannister as well as Cersei and she sang her little song which she had sung ever since her father had been beheaded. Cersei most certainly sensed the bile in those words, because she could see how offended the Queen Regent looked. Tywin looked unchanged for the matter, but he took a pause before asking his second question to her. 

 "Did the King have you beaten after that, Princess Sansa?"

 "He did, my Lord Tywin," Sansa replied. "His Grace saw fit to let me see the error of my brother's ways with a tailed whip when he took Casterly Rock." Everyone knew about it. The lashes on her back weeped so much that she had to return to her chambers to change out of her clothes. Those lashes had been fresh when Oberyn had come to King's Landing. He saw them with their own eyes when they were red and raw. 

 Tyrion held his mouth agape. He knew that from how his father's expression had soured, Sansa had openly defied him. Her words held double meaning. They were the song of the caged bird once in their hands, but they spoke of how Joffrey had abused her and how Tyrion had defended her. His sister thought that Sansa could be cowed into submission by bringing her in as a witness, but in the end, Sansa became a witness for Tyrion's favor more than she was Joffrey's. 

 "The crown will remind Princess Sansa that she has been rewarded for her love and devotion to the late King Joffrey with her recent marriage to Prince Oberyn of House Martell," Tywin added bitterly before dismissing Sansa as a witness. She bowed her head deeply and returned to her seat, the scars of Joffrey's abuse displayed for all to see. 

 The third witness was Grand Maester Pycelle. It was wide and common knowledge that Pycelle was a Lannister man. "Basilik venom, Widow's Blood, Wolfsbane, Essence of Nightshade..." he read off a list that he held in his shaking hands. "Sweetsleep, Tears of Lys, Demon's Dance..." 

Oberyn interrupted him. "I think you've made your point, Grand Maester, you've a lot of poison in your store," he said. 

 " _Had_ , Prince Oberyn," Pycelle stressed. "My stores were plundered!" 

 "By whom?" Tywin asked. There was a strange intonation to his last word. There was less surprise or wonder, as if he already knew the name of the culprit. 

 "By the accused, Tyrion Lannister!" Pycelle reported. "After he had me wrongfully imprisoned..." 

 "Grand Maester," Tywin called, bringing Pycelle's attention back to the trial. "You examined King's Joffrey's corpse. Was it without question poison that killed him?"

 Pycelle nodded. "Without question," he repeated firmly. He reached into his sleeves and produced a certain amethyst ring that Tyrion was rather fond of, however the amethyst was messing. "Tyrion Lannister was wearing this ring on the day of the wedding, residue of a most rare and terrible poison came in the form of its stone." 

 "Was this one of the poisons that have been stolen from your store?" Tywin inquired further. 

 "It was," Pycelle confirmed. "The Strangler," he named it. "A poison few in the Seven Kingdoms posses, and used to strike down the most noble child the Gods have put on this good earth!"

 Even Oberyn was impressed with Pycelle's theatrics, but Tywin Lannister had no time for games. After Pycelle, Cersei was called as witness. 

 "'I will hurt you for this,'" Cersei repeated. "'A day will come when you think you are safe and happy, and your joy will turn into ashes in your mouth, and you will know the debt is paid..." Cersei went on and on about how Tyrion had forced Joffrey to go into the front lines during the Battle of Blackwater Bay, how his actions had endangered the King as repayment for her beating up the whores that he had kept. 

 After Cersei had given her testimony, Varys was called. "Lord Tyrion had told me that with King Joffrey starting a war that we cannot win, we had to seek different alliances," Varys recounted. "He'd called His Grace a fool that would have us all killed and told me that he planned to marry Princess Myrcella to Theon Greyjoy without the knowledge of the Queen Regent. However, it was a ploy to discover whom upon the Small Council was scheming against him and Grand Maester Pycelle fell for the trap." It was a relatively neutral testimony, one that could be used for anyone. "He often remarked the idiocy of King Joffrey's actions most inappropriately." 

 After Varys had been dismissed, the trial was adjourned for an hour. Oberyn had quickly led Sansa out of the throne room and into an empty one next to it where they could speak in private. "You never told me..." he could not complete his question because Sansa had silenced him with a kiss. "Sansa..." 

 "What happened is in the past," she told him. "You couldn't have stopped Joffrey then. No one could except Lord Tyrion. That's the truth and nothing can change it." 

 "You could have at least..." Sansa shook her head and rested it on his chest as he held her in his arms. She was sobbing silently. It took so much of her to have maintained her composure, to stare Tywin and Cersei right in the eye. It took so much that it tired her greatly. She wanted to move past the torment, and she knew that perhaps after that day, she could. 

 "We... we have to get back," Sansa told him. "Oberyn..." 

 "You will be the death of me, trust me," Oberyn said and led Sansa back to the throne room. 

* * *

 

 The last witness was the most unexpected one. Even Sansa widened her eyes when she was called. It was her former handmaiden. When she was the ward of the Lannisters, Shae was installed as her maid. She had never suspected that Shae would be a witness to anything to do with Tyrion. 

 "State your name," Tywin said lazily. 

 "Shae," she proclaimed. 

 "Do you swear by all the Gods that your testimony will be true and honest?" Shae nodded silently. "Do you know this man?"

 "Yes, Tyrion Lannister," she answered.

 "How did you know him?" Tywin asked her. 

 "He assigned me to be Princess Sansa's handmaid before she was married," Shae replied. 

 Tywin started again. "He has been accused of King Joffrey's murder. What do you know of it?"

 "I know that he's guilty," Shae claimed. "He planned it."

 A deafening chorus of whispers and gasps overcame the court. "SILENCE!" Tywin called. He then turned towards Shae and nodded. "Continue." 

 "He hated Joffrey, he hated the Queen and he hated you, my lord," Shae said. "He stole poison from the Grand Maester's chamber to put into Joffrey's wine." 

 Her knowledge in all this puzzled Oberyn. "How would you know all this?" he asked her. "Why would he reveal such plans to Sansa's maid?"

 "I... wasn't just her maid," Shae answered. "I was his whore." The answer greatly satisfied Oberyn, who smirked at her answer. He was a like a lady at court, happily intrigued by scandal. 

 Mace Tyrell, however, was shocked to no end. "I beg your pardon, you said you were his..."

 "His whore," Shae completed. "I was with another man, a knight in the Lord Hand's army. But when Tyrion arrived at the camp, he sent one of his cutthroats into our tent. He broke the knight's arm and brought me to Lord Tyrion. 'You belong to me now', he said. 'I want you to fuck me like it's my last night of this world."

 "And did you?" Oberyn asked her, completely ignoring Tywin's call for silence. 

 "Did I what?"

 "Fuck him like it's his last night in this world?"

 Shae went on to describe every sordid detail of her relationship with Tyrion. She told the court how she called Tyrion her "lion" and how that she was his and he was hers. It was then when Sansa saw that Tyrion had already broken. 

 "I wish to confess!" he shouted. 

 He ranted on how he should have let Stannis Baratheon take King's Landing. He proclaimed that that he was put on trial before being a dwarf, that he had wished that he had killed Joffrey. He hissed at Cersei, "Watching your vicious bastard die gave me more relief than a thousand lying whores! I wish I was the monster you think I am, I wish I had enough poison for the pack of you! I would gladly give my life to watch you swallow it!"

 By then, the Kingsguard had been summoned to bring him back to his cell. However, Tyrion resisted, however he could. "I'll know that I'll get no justice here! I will let the Gods decide my fate... I demand a trial by combat!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh heh heh, I hope that you liked that little steamy scene at the beginning. Don't worry, there will be something longer in the future. 
> 
> Anyone likes Oberyn making a fuss over Sansa? Trust me, if he could kill Joffrey after what he'd found out, he would. 
> 
> Sansa basically wanted to say everything that Tyrion said in his long trial speech. HEH HEH HEH. 
> 
> Enjoy!


	17. The Exchange

 "She's getting better, no?" Ellaria asked Sansa as they watched Oberyn spar with Brienne. "A fine beauty in armor. Do women fight in the North, my love?"

 "There's House Mormont of Bear Island," Sansa answered. "The women there fight like the men, fending off wildlings that got through the Wall by way of the sea." House Mormont was led by Meage Mormont after it's lord, Ser Jorah, had fled her father's justice for selling men into slavery and his father, Jeor, took the black and became the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. "Can you fight, Ellaria?"

 Ellaria smiled warmly. "I can defend myself if I need to, but I am no warrior," she replied. "However, Oberyn insists to have each of his daughters trained to fight. They're very good at what they do, the Sand Snakes and their father." 

 They watched on as Oberyn danced about Brienne, who was trying to find an opening to strike between his incessant taunting with his spear. He twirled it and jumped around rather acrobatically, and she was soon losing her patience. If it were Jaime Lannister, she would have already barked at him, but with Oberyn, she knew that he was testing her. 

 Opportunity soon came and she pierced her sword through the arc that occurred when spear alternated between his left hand and the right. However, he bent backwards and twirled his spear between his hands again, forcing Brienne's sword away from her hand. 

 "How did you learn how to do that?" Brienne asked Oberyn when he returned her sword to her. 

 "I've been using the spear since I was a boy," he answered. "My father had a guest from Yi Ti in the Water Gardens where we made our home. He was an old man, but a deft man and all I wanted to do was to learn how he wielded the spear. He decided to honor my father and teach me a few tricks. When I started, all he gave me to do were stances and breathing techniques. I was incredibly bored, but something within me told me that he was right, so I did whatever he told me to do. Blasted old thing died before he could finish teaching me, and when I traveled all over Essos, I bought every martial art manual from Yi Ti there was and studied them." 

 Brienne could not determine whether he was speaking the truth or not. It didn't matter though. She realized the more she sparred with Oberyn, the better her chances of winning against him. She was beginning to read the movements of others faster, and was able to deflect, parry and attack better than she ever could. It wasn't the amount of practice that she had gotten to have that made her improve, it was the one she was practicing with. 

 "So, if I go to Yi Ti, I'll expect everyone jumping around like acrobats when they duel?" Brienne asked Oberyn with a raised eyebrow. 

"Perhaps one day, we should all cross the Jade Sea and find out about that," Oberyn said, sauntering off to both Sansa and Ellaria. "Would you two love to see Yi Ti and its emerald jungles?"

 "Only if you promise that we'd see a basilisk," Sansa returned with some amount of sarcasm. 

 "Come now, don't you believe in your husband?" Oberyn asked her, bringing each arm around his wife and his paramour. "Once this bloody mess of a war has ended, I will bring take you and Ellaria on a trip across Essos. We shall walk in the markets of the Free Cities, and marvel at the Great Pyramid of Mereen and..." 

 A Dornish messenger interrupted Oberyn's boasts with a letter from Casterly Rock. "News from the front, my Prince and Princess," he said, and passed Oberyn the letter sealed with the one used by his daughters. 

 "You may leave," Oberyn said, nodding to both the messenger and Brienne. He read the contents of the letter and passed it over to Sansa. "Congratulations, Sansa," he whispered into her ear. "The Bolton bastard has ceded control of Winterfell to the brave ladies of House Mormont. Ramsay Snow and Theon Greyjoy will be brought to Casterly Rock before their King." 

 Sansa was clenching her skirts when she heard the mention of Theon Greyjoy, the one who was responsible for the death of her little brothers, Bran and Rickon. If Tywin Lannister was telling the truth, they were burned to death as well...

 Tears had begun to well in her eyes, but they did not fall. Oberyn could see her staring into the training area with the same hard expression she had viewed everyone else at court with, a vengeful hatred that Cersei had so often mistaken with vacant fear. 

 "Robb's legitimized Jon," she told Oberyn and Ellaria instead. "Although Jon's at the Wall, he'll be known as Jon Stark from now on..." 

 "Does your half-brother accept it?" Ellaria asked her. Northmen were not Dornishmen. Bastards could not care less if they were legitimized. Even if they did not inherit, they still lived like full members of the family. 

 "I don't know yet," Sansa answered. "Robb says that there hasn't been a reply from Castle Black." 

 "Your brother loves his family greatly," Oberyn recounted. "His bannermen told me that he takes after your lord father in every way." 

 "He grew up with Jon and Theon as his playmates," Sansa continued, and then her expression hardened even more. "Theon deserves everything he gets, he..." She felt Ellaria's hand on her back, a comforting gesture. There were so many who wronged her family, and only one of them had passed on. She did not know if that was a blessing or a curse upon them. 

 Oberyn held her close to him and let her lean her head on his shoulder. "They will pay, one by one," he told her gently, as if he had been whispering sweet nothings to her. "You have to be patient." 

 That was where the Northmen were different from the Dornishmen. When under threat, the Northerners rouse their armies, demanding justice within notice of a slight. They fight with all they have until they can no longer do so. On the other hand, Dornishmen would lie in wait. Their vengeance may take long, but they will be complete. For they knew that it was not enough to have their enemies defeated. They would have to take  _everything_  they loved, everything they cherished.

* * *

 Robb Stark was glowering when they brought Theon Greyjoy and Ramsay Snow into the main hall of Casterly Rock, where they had used the grandest chair to act as his throne.

 Ramsay Snow wore a blank expression, his pale grey-blue eyes trained upon the King in the North, while Theon, Theon clutched at his feet and shivered like a dog in the cold. 

 "What happened to you, Theon?" Robb asked him, his brow furrowed. Where once proud Theon Greyjoy stood, a shadow of what he once was remained. This shadow wore Theon's face but he had none of Theon's air. None of his brash daring or the smile that would make girls and whores swoon.  "Theon?"

 Curiosity took the best of him and Robb got off from the makeshift throne to take a closer look of Theon while the Sand Snakes watched Ramsay's every move. "He won't recognize you, Your Grace," Ramsay warned Robb. "He's not the Theon Greyjoy you remember. Come to think of it, he's not... completely Theon." 

 One look at Theon's bloodied breeches made Robb understand everything. Theon had been castrated, and Ramsay seemed to be very proud of it. If Theon had not been clinging onto him, Robb would have had Roose Bolton's bastard flung into sea from the nearest window. 

 "Reek... Reek!" Theon whimpered, "Not, Theon, I'm Reek!" 

 Robb would have none of it. "You're Theon Greyjoy, last surviving son of Balon Greyjoy!" Robb roared back, seizing Theon by the collar, getting him to stand. "You were the ward of Winterfell. You grew up next to Jon and I. We ate together, learned together, you swore that we'd die fighting together!" 

 Theon was in tears. "Reek... not Theon..." he sobbed. 

 "Told you..."

 Robb punched Ramsay Snow in the face to the point where he fell backwards. His nose was probably broken. "Watch that one," he hissed at Obara and Nymeria. The sisters nodded and immediately had the guards chain him up and taken into the dungeon cells. Robb would deal with that one later. "Theon, look at me," he said, forcing Theon to look into his blue eyes. "Look at me!" 

 "Tell me Theon, you didn't kill Bran and Rickon," Robb pleaded. "You're not that kind of man. You're loyal, you're my brother..." Theon did not stop sobbing. He was shaking his head, trying to look away but Robb wouldn't let him. "Do you remember after Bran fell? The Imp got him a new saddle so he could ride and we took him riding. You killed the wildlings that tried to take Bran. You saved my brother from them although you were a right idiot shooting the one that had him!" 

 It was not possible that the very same Theon Greyjoy would kill Bran. Theon was a cocky fool at times, but he was not vicious and cruel. He was insecure at times, but it was because he was a ward, a prisoner in anything but name although he was treated well.  He was eager to prove himself, and he was loyal too. It was then when Robb realized that everything that Theon Greyjoy was made him meet his fate thus. It was such a... Theon thing to do. 

 "I... killed the boys," Theon stuttered after a long silence. "I... shouldn't..." 

 "They weren't just boys!" Robb roared. "They were my brothers!" 

 "No... no..." Theon cried. "Farmer's boys... Bran and Rickon... escaped..."

 Bran and Rickon were alive? 

 Robb's eyes widened and he released his grip on Theon. He had mourned his little brothers. His mother had cried for them bitterly. To know that they were not dead from Theon's own mouth, he did not know whether he should celebrate or be afraid. "If they weren't Bran and Rickon, who were they?" he demanded, but Theon only retreated further into his shell. "Theon, tell me!" 

 "They were two farm boys!" he cried back. "I killed them and burned them so no one would know!"

 "Where are they?" Robb asked Theon. "I have to know if they're alive, Theon!' 

 "Don't... know," Theon sobbed. "Went North... may have reached... the Wall..." 

 The Wall. If they were going to the Wall, then Jon would be able to keep them safe. Robb called for the guards to have Theon bathed and fed before they brought him to a chamber that was heavily guarded and went to call his lords, wife and mother. 

 Within the hour, everyone that he needed to see was assembled before him. "What did Theon confess?" Catelyn asked her son. 

 "He didn't kill Bran and Rickon," Robb answered. "He killed two farmboys in their stead, burned the bodies so no one could recognize them. He says that they've gone North, to the Wall." 

 "We've got to find them, Robb!" Catelyn exclaimed. "My boys..." 

 Talisa held her hand and nodded. She was soon to be a mother, and now understood an inkling of the anguish that her mother-in-law must have felt when she received news that her sons were most likely dead. 

 "Uncle Brynden, send word to Lady Mormont to spare no effort in searching for my brothers. They'll have to go beyond the Wall if they have to," Robb instructed the Blackfish. 

 "Aye, Your Grace," Brynden Tully said. 

 "What are you going to do with Theon then?" Talisa asked Robb. Her husband was not a man who would kill his own men lightly, less so one that he thought of as a brother before his own betrayal. 

 Robb slumped onto the nearest chair and rested his head in his hands. "I don't know," he groaned. "The fact that Theon didn't kill Bran and Rickon... but he did take Winterfell in his father's name. Ramsay Snow, he... unmanned Theon after sacking Winterfell." 

 "So you'll  _spare_  Theon?" Catelyn burst out. "After what he did to Winterfell?"

 "Mother, what if Theon and I exchanged places?" Robb returned. "I would've done the same thing if Father wanted me to take the Iron Islands! He's been punished enough." The Gods only knew what horrors had Ramsay Snow inflicted upon Theon. If he survived them and became so broken in the process, then the Gods had seen it fit to let him live. Living with what he had done would be the greatest punishment he would have. 

 "What about Ramsay Snow, Bolton's bastard?" a Northern lord asked. "He's the one who sacked Winterfell and burnt it to the ground." 

 Robb fell silent. He didn't know what to do with Ramsay Snow, but he knew that he could not place him back with his father. It would be suicide. Ramsay was vicious but he was not a fool. If brought back to his father, even if they no longer had the means, the two of them would tear at the Northern Army like shreds. 

 "Have Ramsay Snow unmanned like he did Theon," Robb said, his voice resolute. "Then put him and his member on the next ship to Pyke from Lannisport. Tell Balon Greyjoy that I've returned the Bolton bastard's favor to his son and he's allowed to do whatever he wants with him and Theon Greyjoy is dead. Theon will continue living as Theon Snow." He would have Theon and Ramsay exchange their places. He would have Theon suffer the pain of survival and he would have Ramsay suffer whatever it was the Ironborn would have him suffer. Death would be too easy for the both of them. 

* * *

 Sansa knew that Oberyn was not sleeping well. Ellaria had stolen off to pleasure a coquettish little lady from a minor house from the Crownlands, leaving them alone in their chambers. Her husband had been tossing and turning and playing at her hair the whole night and thought that she would not notice. When she felt his finger trace the line that Ser Meryn Trant had caused she turned towards him and asked, "Is something bothering you, Oberyn?" 

 Oberyn was silent. He brought an arm around her, stroking her hair behind her head and he thought of what to say. One look into those blue eyes and he was done for. He knew that he could not tell anything but the truth to her. "I am thinking about the pie just now," he told her, trying his luck anyways. "It reminded me of a particularly terrible one I ate as a child." 

 "You're lying," Sansa said absently. 

 "How did you know I was lying?" Oberyn asked her. She did not seem to be one that could detect lies very well, judging her by character. He could not lie to her because he looked into her eyes and he found them so haunting, so ethereal that he was stirred to tell the truth. He had been entranced by them since the first day they met. 

 "Lord Baelish once told me that everyone was a liar," she answered. "They all lied better than me. Joffrey lied that he would send Father to the Wall, the Queen lied that I would be safe here. Everyone lies. I told myself one day that I had to start knowing how they lied and lie like them or else I was going to end up like Father did. Father told the one most terrible truth and he died for it." 

 Oberyn sighed. When Elia was lost to him, he had thought that all the light in the world had gone from him. He found no joy. He traveled to Essos, joined the Second Sons, searching for death but all he had was glory. When he returned to Dorne he went from man to woman to man to woman until he met Ellaria, who brought him some measure of peace, bit by bit. He could only imagine the pain that Sansa had went through, losing a father, being virtually kept prisoner by her father's executors. She showed nothing of it. It made him wonder if she was truly destined to be a Martell. She seemed to live out every single meaning of his House's words. 

 "You don't look at me directly when you lie," Sansa explained. "You tend to look away. You'll only look straight ahead when you want to attack. No wonder they call you the Red Viper." 

 He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. "The man who killed your father is dead," he said, looking into her ice-blue eyes. "He has gone to whatever hell he deserves, but... the beast that killed my sister is still alive," he told her. "You know that Tyrion Lannister wants a trial by combat. Who do you think would be the Queen's champion?"

 "The Mountain," she answered, her eyes widening when she realized the meaning of his words. "He's the Lannisters' butcher. You can't face him! He's huge! His... sword is huge!" 

 "You already have been vindicated with Joffrey's death, Sansa," he told her, almost pleading her. "Whatever he's done to you and your family, at least the wounds will begin to heal, no matter how festered they've been. Elia's not been avenged yet, and I will not rest until the Mountain is dead." 

 Sansa would have none of it. "There are... a thousand ways to kill the Mountain," she reasoned. "You can have him poisoned, you can have him assassinated... You could slit his throat..." 

 "It won't matter if I did any of those, Sansa," Oberyn told her. "I want him to admit it before everyone, that Tywin Lannister ordered him to kill my sister and her children. I want him to admit that he raped her and murdered her in front of the whole world." 

 "Oberyn, please," Sansa pleaded. "What you're doing is suicide! Ellaria would scream at you when she finds out. She won't be happy about it." 

 "No, she won't," he admitted. "But I have made my decision." He cannot let this chance slip by him. He had waited too long for this chance. 

 "What if you lose?" she asked him. "You can't put us aside like that..." She knew what Oberyn was about to do when he brought her closer to her, and struggled to pull away from him. If he thought he could kiss her and be done with it, he was wrong. "Oberyn..." 

 Oberyn held her close to him no matter what. He was stronger than her and he could keep her in his arms. "I won't lose," he told her, tucking her head beneath her chin, holding her until she stopped struggling. "I promised you yesterday, didn't I? I told you that I'd keep my head. I can't leave you or Ellaria, I love you..." 

 "You... love me?" Sansa repeated, eyes wide with disbelieve.

 Oberyn smiled. "Yes, my dear wife," he told her. "I once thought that you were a lady to be saved, and if by marrying you I can free you, I would, but you have strength deeper than any Northman or Dornishman can ever have. Ellaria loves you too, in her own way." He brought her lips for a kiss, one that was deep, yet passionate, one of promise. He kissed her after that as well, kissing her until her lips had swollen slightly and she found no will to fret any longer. "Do you have so little faith in your husband?"

 "You mustn't lose," she stressed. "You'll only be bringing me back to the Lannisters if you do. What would your daughters do if you failed?" Ellaria had told her before that the older Sand Snakes were not only warriors, but trusted leaders of the Dornish people. The Dornishmen loved the Martells and Oberyn's daughters were included in that love. If they would champion any cause, they would follow them as Obara and Nymeria had shown at Casterly Rock. 

 "They'll round the armies of Dorne up if my brother permits and they will join forces with your brother to take this capital," Oberyn answered. That was the plan. It was always the plan. Doran knew of such a plan. 

 "No, if you lose a trial by combat, you lose and no one can stand against that," Sansa replied. "Dorne won't have a valid reason to fight against the crown and you'll have to take King's Landing without any of the Targaryen  princess' dragons. That's why you  _mustn't_ lose. Do you understand?"

 "Perfectly, my beautiful wife," Oberyn answered, kissing her one last time before laying her down next to him, finally coaxing her to sleep. "I won't lose. You have my word." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm, there are quite a few revelations in this chapter. I hope you like them all. 
> 
> Oberyn's going to be in big trouble with Ellaria. 
> 
> I also realized that I like Theon a little more now than what I used to. 
> 
> Enjoy!


	18. Breakthrough

 Theon Greyjoy, no, Theon Snow was in a chamber made specially for him. Theon Snow he was called now. Not even Theon Pyke, but snow. Theon Greyjoy had failed to take the North, and now the North had claimed him, calling him her bastard. Robb had erased the history of his existence as an Iron Islander completely. 

 There were bars instead of a door, to remind him that he was now the prisoner of the King in the North. Other than that, baths were drawn for him, food sent to him. He was not ill-treated. From his window, he watched Ramsay Snow being chained up, his breeches bloodied at the crotched and thrown onto a ship. He knew not where the ship was bringing him. He did not even know why Robb was keeping him alive, after all that he had done. He killed Ser Rodrik, those farmboys, he had taken what was his home for a father that never loved him, forsaking the people and children for the one man that he should have loved as a father. 

 Robb came to see him every day. Dear, old Robb. Dear, honest Robb. Sometimes, his wife would tend to him, checking him for any ill-recovering wounds, applying ointments for him, giving him medicine, under his watchful eye of course. Robb's expression was hard as ever, cold and distant, but Theon knew that he was not talking to some new devil that walked in Robb's skin, he was talking to Robb, the one that he knew. Every time Robb would see him, his questions would always remain the same. 

 "What happened, Theon?"

 He did not blame him, he did not curse him. He asked him the same question over and over. 

 "Theon, I need to know." 

 Theon could not answer him. He could not bring himself to. 

 "Things wouldn't get better for you if you run from what you did, Theon." 

 "I..." 

 "You were sent to get your father's ships so we could face Stannis' fleet. Thank the Gods that he lost the Battle of the Blackwater, or we'd be literally sitting ducks!" 

 Theon sat still before Robb, unable to speak a word. He no longer shivered, he no longer sobbed, but still there was fear in his heart. He knew that Robb could have seen it in his eyes. 

 "Theon, how long are we going to be at this for?" Robb demanded. "I need to know..." 

 "Why don't you just kill me and be done with it?" Theon asked him. "I took your home, I made your brothers run away..." 

 "Because killing you won't make anything better!" Robb roared back, standing up to his full height. "Killing you would make it too easy for you, too." 

 Psychological warfare. With Robb, it was always wits against brawn. Theon remembered how he had fooled Tywin Lannister into thinking that he would be facing the full Northern army, but in truth Robb had led them to Riverrun where they captured Jaime Lannister and effectively destroyed half the Lannister army. It was a glorious day, that day. Some part of him would smile when he remembered that day. Even Robb himself did not know that he had such a hold on this lesser-used tactic. 

 "What were you thinking anyways? Your father  _couldn't_  have had the means to try to take over the rest of the Kingdoms even if he wanted to," Robb chided. The tone of voice that he had was not threatening. Nor was it menacing. It was merely his friend, his brother, chastising him for going through such a harebrained idea. "You could have told me what happened. We could've sent more men to talk sense into your father..." 

 Theon couldn't take it any longer. "What would you have done if you were in my place?" he demanded. "That was my fuckin' father that told me to take the North. If Lord Ned wanted you to take the Iron Islands you would've done the same!" 

 Theon stopped. His eyes wide. He was in such disbelief that he collapsed into the chair he previously sat in. 

 Then, something he never thought would happen occurred. Robb's Northern scowl broke into a whisper of a smile. His eyes were slightly red, wetter than they were five seconds ago. "That's what I told Mother too," he said, still looking directly at Theon. "But, that doesn't mean that you're a free man." 

 "What are you going to do to me?" he asked Robb. 

 "You're going to do whatever I tell you to do," Robb replied. "You're a Northman now, Theon Snow. You'll heed the words of your King. You'll start by telling me what the hell happened from the moment you got off the ship at Pyke right until Ramsay Snow caught you." 

 Theon froze up again. "I... can't..." 

 "Theon, your loyalty and life belongs to me now," Robb emphasized, staring him down this time.

 "It's not that," Theon argued. "I really... can't... Not now." 

 "Then we'll try again tomorrow," Robb said. "See you, Theon."

 When he left, Theon Snow slumped into a little pile and sobbed again. It was a mixture of regret and joy for him. The very fact that his brotherhood with Robb was reaffirmed by the similarity of their thoughts brought him an untold amount of joy, and the pain of his betrayal of that brotherhood was so evident in Robb that it hurt even more than when Ramsay tortured him. He cried himself to sleep on that cold stone floor and was a broken man, more than Ramsay could even break him. 

* * *

 Ellaria had thrown a vase at him when he told her of his decision. After she had thrown said vase, she threatened to castrate him with the dagger that she always held with her. After that, she asked Sansa how she was able to stand by his decision and Sansa told her outright that she did not. 

 "I'll kill myself the moment anything goes wrong," his wife told his paramour, holding Ellaria's hand that still held the dagger. "I'll not let myself fall back into the hands of the Lannisters again." 

 "You will ruin your new wife," Ellaria hissed at him, clearly near tears. "Our daughters will grow up without a father and your older ones will have to shoulder a war between them with or without Sansa's family backing them!" 

 Oberyn was silent. The two of his loves were seated close to one another and he knelt between them. He took each of their hands and covered them with his. "I won't lose," he promise them, just as he had promised Sansa. "You have my word." 

 "Your word is nothing against the malice of the lions around us," Ellaria cautioned. "You're walking into their trap and it'll be too late to run." Sansa looked at him pointedly. She agreed with Ellaria although she said nothing against him. 

 Oberyn sighed. "I have arranged for a ship that would bring you two and Brienne directly to Lannisport. You will be safe with Obara, Nymeria and the Northern Army," he told them. "Our men will fight to the death to make sure that you get on the ship." 

 "When Father was arrested, they killed everyone in our household in King's Landing," Sansa reminded him. "My Septa's head was next to Father's on the pikes that lined the walls of the Red Keep." 

 Oberyn was silent. He still held their hands together, looking pleadingly into Ellaria's eyes.  "Give me this one chance to avenge my sister, my love. Let me have the peace that her soul would finally rest." 

 She knew that there was no stopping him. If he had not been the obstinate, stubborn man he was, she might not have loved him as she did. Without saying a word, she nodded and stormed out of the chambers. 

 "Well, that went well," Oberyn told Sansa, however, Sansa turned to leave as well. "Where are you going?"

 "To see to Ellaria," Sansa answered. "Please don't do anything that would make her angry in the time being." 

 Oberyn gave her a low bow as a symbol of his deferment to his wife, but she left even before he could rise. Women. Women were the center of all his troubles, and women would take all his troubles away. He was a cursed man. 

* * *

 Tyrion Lannister had an unexpected visitor in his cell. "I imagined that you'd be back at the brothel at this hour," he told his guest sardonically. Yes, he was married to Sansa Stark, but that did not change his habits one bit. He had heard that his father convinced him to be the third judge at his trial in Littlefinger's brothel where they first met. 

 Oberyn shook his head. "I did spend some time with an absolutely stunning blonde the other day," he returned his voice laden with sarcasm that Tyrion was probably too tired to detect. 

 "Mm, do tell," he replied. "I've got every kind of filth down here except the kind that I like." 

 "Your sister," Oberyn clarified, allowing the truth to sink down upon the Imp. "Cersei approached me, and we spoke a great deal about her daughter, how worried your sister is about her..." He had been writing a poem to send to his fifth daughter, Elia, who was missing her parents and her older sisters that afternoon, one that Ellaria and Sansa had spent accompanying Margery Tyrell through her period of mourning under Brienne's watchful eye. "She was trying very hard to pretend she had not come to sway me against you. I think she may have even believed it herself." 

 Tyrion gave a little sigh and looked back towards Oberyn. "Making honest feelings do dishonest work is one of her many gifts," he explained. It was Cersei did the best, actually. 

 Tyrion had a point there. "It was difficult for her to hide her true intentions," Oberyn continued. "It's rare to meet a Lannister who shares my enthusiasm for dead Lannisters. She desperately wants to see you killed." 

 "She didn't need to bother you," Tyrion declared. "It looks as though I've taken care of that myself... The joy she will feel when my head leaves my neck. She's wanted this for a long time." 

 That much, Oberyn understood. "Yes, I know," he told Tyrion, sitting down on a stool opposite the dwarf. "We met, you and I, many years ago." 

 Scrunching his face up in disbelief, Tyrion said, "I think I would have remembered that." There were many legends about Oberyn in every stage of his life. When he was a teenager he had slept with the mistress of the Dornish lord he was fostered too and due to his high birth he was allowed to duel with the lord until first blood. Oberyn had won but the lord died of his wounds. Oberyn had clearly poisoned the tip of his spear. It was why he was called the Red Viper. 

 "Unlikely," Oberyn recalled. "You had just been born. Our father brought me and my sister Elia with him on a visit to Casterly Rock, my first time away from Dorne," he explained with animated gestures, as though he was telling some epic tale. "I didn't like anything about the Rock, not the food, not the weather, not your accents... nothing. But the biggest disappointment was you." 

 Another sigh from Tyrion. "You and my family have a lot more in common than you might admit," he stated woefully. 

 "The whole way from Dorne all anyone talked about was the monster that had been born to Tywin Lannister. A head twice the size of his body, a tail between his legs, claws, one red eye... the privates of both a girl and a boy... When we met your sister, she promised she would show you to us. Every day we would ask, and every day she would say, 'Soon'. Then she and your brother took us to your nursery and... she unveiled the freak." The Dornish prince even had the audacity to pause in his words for effect. "Your head was a bit large, your arms and legs were a bit small, but no claw, no red eye, no tail between your legs, just a tiny pink cock." 

 For whatever reason, Tyrion felt relief wash over him. Oberyn Martell might have been half a madman (his father's favorite description of him), but he was not a hateful man. He might have hated, but not for the sheer reason of hating another. 

 "We didn't try to hide our disappointment," Oberyn continued. "'That's not a monster', I told Cersei. 'That's just a baby!' And she said, 'He killed my mother.' And she pinched your little cock so hard, I thought she might pull it off until your brother made her stop. 'It doesn't matter,' she told us. 'Everyone says he'll die soon, I hope they are right. He should not have lived this long.'"

 Tyrion's eyes were red. He was close to tears because he realized that there was never really any possibility of peace between him and Cersei. All his life, he had always tried to get on her good side, just because he was her sister, because they were family. It would seem that his whole life to actually be loved as part of a family was a futile effort. 

 "Well, sooner or later, Cersei always gets what she wants," Tyrion commented sadly. 

 "And what about what I want?" Oberyn asked him. "Justice for my sister and her children." 

 "If you want justice, you've come to the wrong place." King's Landing was a place where everything  _but_  justice thrived. He had lived there long enough to realize even that. 

However, Oberyn only smirked. "I disagree," he said confidently. "I've come to the perfect place. I want to bring all those who have wronged my family to justice, and all those who have wronged us are right here. I will begin with Ser Gregor Clegane, who killed my sister's children and then raped her with their blood still on his hands before killing her too. I will be your champion." 

 "What about Lady Sansa?" Tyrion asked. "You can't risk making her a widow just months after being married, can you?" He knew how angry Sansa had made Cersei after she became Princess Sansa Martell

 "My wife owes you a debt, Tyrion Lannister," he said. "She told me that you were kind to her when the little butcher king and his mother tormented her. For that she is grateful." 

 "I don't believe that you talked her into letting you do this," Tyrion said, shaking his head. If there's anyone with the will to live greater than anyone else, it was Sansa. She would not easily agree to anything as suicidal as what Oberyn was trying to do. 

 "You're right," Oberyn replied. "Both she and Ellaria put up a great fight, but they know that I have to do this. If not for myself then my family." The world had thought he had raged over the death of his sister, but Doran... Doran was in so much pain that he could not eat or sleep. 

 He would end all of their pain by getting the Mountain to admit what he had done. 

* * *

 "Are you sure about this, my love?" Ellaria asked Sansa, helping her don the sheer gown that revealed most of her body. They had found it in the market when both of them had left the Red Keep in a huff with Brienne in tow, needing to part with some coin to relieve themselves of the anguish and also slight anger that Oberyn had caused them. "You don't have to rush this if you don't feel ready." 

 Sansa smiled and turned towards Ellaria and nodded. "I'll never be ready if I wait too long," she told her, earning a light kiss from the Dornishwoman. She could not remain a virgin if she was to be safe from the Lannisters should anything happen. They would know if the bloodied sheet that Cersei Lannister was given after her wedding night was falsified. They could easily have given her to other lords or even have her marry Tyrion Lannister if they wished. "Are you sure that you don't want to join us?"

 By then, Sansa had already enjoyed more than innocent contact with Ellaria, who had taken it upon herself to educate her lover's wife on the finer points of loving a man as he. She reckoned that the only way to learn was to show Sansa and to have her experience what could be. 

 "I am not the one walking to my death," Ellaria reminded her, pulling out the remainder of Sansa's braids and combing out any tangles with the nearest comb she could find. "Besides, your maidenhead will not be taken even if I did take you." However, Sansa still seemed nervous. "Don't worry, love, Oberyn is a gentle lover." 

 "What if I... stop and I don't know how to continue?" Sansa asked. "What if..." 

 "Hush, my love," Ellaria silenced her with a quick, chaste kiss. "You  _will_  know what to do, because it is in your instinct. The more you fear it, the more that fear will drive you. I can teach you how to do everything in the world and more, but it would come to nothing if you do not embrace the fire within you and do as it tells you to do." 

 They heard the doorknob move and Ellaria promptly shoved Sansa back to her hiding spot behind the screen they had in their chambers. When Oberyn entered, she listened in as Ellaria pretended to still be angry at him and promptly left the room. Her poor husband was left alone in their chambers, sighing as he kicked off his boots and slumped on the bed.

 Sansa then took a deep breath and walked towards him from the screen. He must have sensed her presence, because he sat up the moment she took her first step, and before she knew it, he snatched her body into his arms and touched his forehead to hers. "To what I owe this pleasure, Sansa?" he asked her, drinking in the sight of her body once again. He was only able to barely explore the beauty that was his wife before the trial, and  very honestly forgotten about it due to the whirlwind that followed. If they were in a time of peace, he would have spent every waking moment attending to his wife since then. 

 "I... I give myself to you," she told him, reaching for the ties of her new, sheer dressing gown. "We can't wait any longer..." 

 Before she could even finish her sentence, Oberyn had seized her lips in a searing kiss that left her without breath the moment they parted, their tongues dancing between their mouthes. She had frantically reached for his clothes, trying to pry them away, but he gently moved her hands away from him and held them to either side of her head. 

 "Patience," he cooed into her ear. "We will have all night, love." One by one, he kissed her fingertips, and then her brow, her eyelids, her cheekbones before moving to the center of her collarbones, the arch of her neck and each of her shoulders. She held him close to her, burrowing her fingers through his dark hair. There was something... inherently delicious about his weight above her, to have him resting between her legs. 

She watched as he made short work of her new shift. With one hand he managed to untie all the ties it had and quickly shifted it above her head and threw it to the floor. Even before she was able to blush, Oberyn had kissed the highest points of flesh on her left breast and took the coral-hued nipple into his mouth. He nipped at it gently, at first, and then he sucked on it. After twirling his tongue around it a few times, he moved to her other breast and did the same thing. 

 "O... Oberyn..." she gasped. There it was again, that winding feeling at her gut. She felt his eyes on her, watching her every reaction to his every ministration, and she met his with hers. They laced their fingers together and he kissed her lips hungrily before moving past her navel, straight to the outer folds of her nether regions. 

 It was impressive that she was still coherent enough to call his name. Leaving nothing to chance, he flicked his tongue at her core of her being, her pearl and thrust his tongue into the cavern of her sheath. She had gasped so loudly, and as if to reward him further he could feel her inner muscles start to clench his tongue. She would soon be ready for him. 

 For whatever reason, Sansa felt her own body raise itself to meet Oberyn's skillful tongue. Remembering Ellaria's advice, she let her body do it's own work. She listened to it, and listened to him. Oh, how he had moaned against the skin of her womanhood as he pleasured her. She had never heard his voice take such a timbre or tone. 

 "Look at me, Sansa," he told her, his head coming up for a kiss, and in that kiss she realized that she was tasting herself on his tongue. She did not know how she tasted like, but before she was able to think about it, Oberyn had held her chin by his finger and thumb, forcing her to meet his gaze. Slowly, she felt something enter her, something thin. It took her a few more seconds before she understood that he had sheathed his finger within her. "Move as I do," he whispered into her ear, and she did just that, making her hips rise and fall as he did. When she found her rhythm, she realized that he had added another finger. 

 The coil within her tightened and tightened. As she moved to accommodate his two fingers within her, she once again felt him on her breasts, then flitting to every part of her body, covering her skin with wild kisses. When the coil became to tight that it seemed to have broken, she cried out, arching her back and clung onto him with dear life until whatever she was feeling abated. Only then did he remove his fingers, and she could see that they were slick with whatever moisture accumulated within her. 

 "That was your first orgasm," he told her, taking off his own clothing piece by piece. "Had you have met me earlier, my beautiful wife, you would have had many of them and still be a maid." 

 "You... can't be serious," Sansa replied after she had caught her breath. Whatever she had felt, it was unlike anything that she had felt before. 

 "Oh, but I am," he told her, finally removing his smallclothes. His manhood was already erect when it sprang free. She had never seen a more peculiar thing in her life. Before her curiosity goaded her to act, she felt his hand leading hers towards it. "Touch," he commanded gently, and touch him she did. 

 He was warm, very warm. The skin was smooth. She had traced his length with her fingertips at first, a tentative touch. When he brought his arm across her shoulders, his mouth was so near her ears that she could hear every single reaction from him. Gingerly, she began to envelope his girth with her hand and began to move said hand up his length and down again. He let out a lusty groan as her reward, relishing the feel of her hand around his member.

 "Does this, pleasure you?" she asked him, still unsure of her actions. One day, when she was experienced enough, she will be formidable, he thought to himself. 

 "It does, Princess," he answered, and started to spread the skin of her womanhood and rub that area in large, circular motions. "And I would not be one who stands only at the receiving end," he growled into her ear. Before long, he lifted her so that she would be straddling him. 

 "Wait... what are you doing?" Sansa asked. She could feel the tip of his manhood just barely grazing the lips of her sheath, but she did not understand. During her bridal training, her septa said that a man would mount a woman, not the other way around. 

 Oberyn chuckled. "I am doing as you wished me to," he told her. "Every woman is different, my love. For some, their first time might hurt and for others, they might not. When I sheath myself in you, you must tell me if it hurts. I will stop until you no longer feel pain, and then..."

 "Then what?" she interrupted, and he kissed her over and over. 

 "And then, you will ride, as Rhaenys the Queen rides Marexes." 

 Sansa did not know when exactly he had lowered her onto his manhood, but she felt a strange burning sensation. There were slight tears in her eyes and by the them he kissed them away, the burning was gone. In its place was the coil again, and this time, the feeling of being filled. It was as if a missing part of her had returned. 

 "Ride, my love," he whispered, and ride she did, undulating her hips, moving backwards and forwards, continuing as he matched her pace. The feeling of it was... magical, there was nothing like it. As they moved as one, her back was arched backwards but she could feel his hands on her breasts, cupping them as if they were the only thing he could reach for. 

 After what seemed to be an eternity in paradise, she felt the coil go blank again, and she collapsed onto him, her body still riding out the aftershocks of her ecstasy. By the way her inner walls had seized him, he knew that he would soon come undone, and removed himself from her depths, spilling his seed on her belly instead. In the very least, she understood what he had meant by that. She could not get pregnant at that time. They were in a middle of a war. A child would only complicate things, a child brought into the world then would not be safe at all. They would have to wait. 

 "Now, my love, you are truly a woman," he told her with a lazy kiss when she flopped herself beside him. He would remember how her fiery hair had fallen in molten rivers as they took one another, how her eyes burned with desire for him. 

 "Thank you," she peeped, bringing her head to his chest. Before long she was fast asleep, leaving Oberyn to contemplate his duel with the Mountain. 

 It would be a waste to have someone like her widowed so young. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all seriousness, I had great fun writing this chapter, from start to end. However, I despise writing first times for virgins. 
> 
> I also realized that Robb has an innate ability to know what other people want the most and use it against them. He could be the only one in GoT that uses psychological warfare. Sadly, some people just want to see the world burn *glares at Walder Frey and Roose Bolton*
> 
> Ellaria is used to Oberyn's pig-headedness. She just wants to show him that he's stupid, hence the theatrics. 
> 
> Enjoy!


	19. Keep Your Head

 Sansa and Ellaria walked into the arena where Tyrion Lannister's trial by combat would be held with Oberyn between them. They were accompanied by Brienne of Tarth and Ser Deamon Sand, Oberyn's squire, who brought an assortment of spears. The crowds were roaring behind the royal box, as if this was a spectacle. "There are fighting pits in Slaver's Bay where man is pitted against man for sport," Oberyn told Sansa. "These people are no different than those who pay to see such a sight in Essos."

 "Then give them a show that they won't forget and live to tell the tale," Sansa told him. It was a command from his wife and he would honor it. 

 When Tyrion Lannister emerged from his cell and into the pavilion where they were, the first thing he did was to examine Oberyn from top to bottom and said, "That looks like very light armor." Oberyn was donned in red leather armor, the same shade as would be found on the handle of Nymeria's whip, Ellaria had told Sansa. Nymeria had asked for the leftover leather used to make that very set of armor for her whip. The Dornish wore only leather armor because they would bake in the sun had they used steel plate armor like the rest of Westeros. It contributed greatly to their emphasis on speed and agility alongside skill, unlike their counterparts who valued strength above all. 

 "I like to move around," Oberyn returned, holding both Sansa and Ellaria close to him while Tyrion quipped that he should have worn a helmet at the very least. 

 "There are more Gold Cloaks here than I expected," Sansa noted to her husband and his lover. The glint from their golden armor was not easy to miss, especially when they were all underneath the sun. The Gold Cloaks were not only in the stands to keep order, but had double-row formations at the foot of the stands. 

 Brienne did not like their presence either. "They have something planned," she proclaimed. "I'll get to the bottom of this."

 "Brienne, you'll only be springing the trap early," Oberyn told his wife's sworn sword. "Any sudden move and the Goldcloaks will have us all skewered." 

 "So what do you propose?" Brienne demanded, highly getting used to the informality of Oberyn's household. 

 "We continue with the show," Oberyn replied, taking a hearty gulp of wine. 

 Tyrion was very, very uneasy from what he saw Oberyn doing. "You shouldn't drink before a fight," he added to the list of things that his champion should or should not be doing. 

 Oberyn chuckled. "You learned this during your years in the fighting pits?" he asked Tyrion jokingly. "I always drink before a fight." They said that alcohol was liquid courage, and so it was for him. It was a habit that he had gained when he had joined the Second Sons. Oh, how much money he had brought to them when he was among them. They were so rich that there was plenty of wine and women for everyone in the company. 

 "It could get you killed," Tyrion reasoned. "It could get  _me_  killed." He looked towards Sansa, who seemed to be the one who could at least talk some sense into him, but she could only shake her head. She had already tried all that she could with Oberyn. 

 "Today is not the day I die," Oberyn stressed. 

 Then the crowds cheered. Ser Gregor Clegane had finally showed up. He was a greater beast of a man than Sansa had remembered him to be. She must have immediately clung to Oberyn, because she felt his hold over her waist tighten. 

 "You're going to fight  _that_?" Ellaria exclaimed in half terror, her eyes trained upon Ser Gregor. The ground seemed to quiver slightly whenever he took a step to her. 

 "I'm going to kill  _that_ ," Oberyn reassured her. 

 "He's the biggest man I've ever seen!" 

 "Size does not matter when you are flat on your back." 

 "Thank the Gods," Tyrion said, interrupting the exchanged between Ellaria and Oberyn. 

 Sansa remained silent. "Something's wrong," she announced. She was watching everything carefully with those large blue eyes of hers. The air was tense, too tense for her liking. "The Queen's looking incredibly sure of herself, as if she's something planned." 

 "She's planning to see me die, Princess," Tyrion declared. "Of course she'll have that smug look on her pretty face." 

 Tyrion had not seen Cersei during the Battle of Blackwater Bay. Cersei had that exact same face when she had all the ladies huddled with her in Maegor's Holdfast when the fighting broke out. She in her beautifully armored gown, had tasked Ser Ilyn Payne do kill all them all if the Red Keep was breached. Oh, Sansa knew that face on Cersei Lannister very well. 

 "Remember what I told you last night," Oberyn reminded Brienne. The minute he fell, she would escort Sansa and Ellaria with Ser Daemon to the harbor where a Dornish ship would be ready to take them to Lannisport, to Robb Stark for protection. They were to kill anyone who stood in their way. 

 "I will, my Prince," Brienne promised. "Princess Sansa and Ellaria would be safe with Ser Daemon and I." Ser Daemon merely nodded and continued to polish Oberyn's spear. 

 "Don't leave us alone in this world," Ellaria pleaded Oberyn, bringing Sansa with her as they regarded him for one last time before he entered the arena. 

 He gave each of them long, fervent kisses. "I'll never leave you both," he promised them, holding them both close to him. Pressing his lips to Sanas's forehead, he added, "I will honor my promise to you, and when this is done we will see your family before we move back to Dorne." 

 Her heart had soared when he said those words, but she knew that she could not be so selfish. He had other things to live for. "Just put your attention to staying alive," she told him. "Worry about that later." 

 With a kiss to each of their hands, Oberyn left for the arena with the spear that Ser Daemon had thrown to him. 

* * *

 "Are all the precautions in place?" Cersei asked the captain of the Gold Cloaks. 

 "We have crossbows all over the arena, Your Grace," the Gold Cloak replied. "Nothing untoward would happen." 

 Cersei nodded. "The safety of the arena is of paramount importance," she said and dismissed him before her father came to sit beside her. After acknowledging Tywin's presence, Cersei turned towards Prince Oberyn in his pavilion. He had openly displayed his wife  _and_  his paramour before all to see, the two wenches dressed in formal Dornish gowns of revealing but flowing gowns. 

 Her eyes met Sansa's, and she found only ice and steel in them. She had forgotten precisely when, but the pliable, malleable little dove from Winterfell had disappeared. It her place was this Northern beast that stood next to that southern snake of a Dornish prince, looking as if she was ready to swallow her whole. Oh, Sansa still sang the songs the little dove once sang, but her eyes, those sickeningly blue Tully eyes told more than just lies in order to preserve her own life. 

 Sansa would sing and sing but her eyes told her that once day, she would take everything from Cersei. Judging how kind fate was to her now, she half expected her dead Direwolf to return to the realm of the living and bite her. 

 "Look at that disgusting display," Cersei commented when Oberyn kissed his lover and wife one after the other. The two women held each other when he left their pavilion, as though they shared more than just one man. 

 Varys was the only one who seemed to want to humor her. "Your Grace, I believe in Dorne, it is quite a common thing," Varys reminded her. "Although, I wonder what the Princess' Northern relatives would say about it. They're so uptight about these things..." 

 "Her mother would weep at how she's been openly put on display next to his whore," Cersei answered Varys' rhetorical question. The Tully words were "Family, Duty, Honor," and Oberyn had done no such thing to his young wife. However, she knew that Sansa did not care about little details like that. Her Dornish prince had brought her to a place where the little dove that she was could not follow. 

 "If the two of you are quite done, I am ready to watch the trial now," Tywin hissed at them, subtly telling them to keep their mouths shut. 

 Cersei held her peace. She wanted to see how well the Gods favored her little brother, and she hoped that they would spit on him. 

* * *

 Oberyn emerged from the pavilion after Ser Daemon threw him his spear. As per habit, he twirled it around, displaying his mastery of the weapon, showing off his fancy footwork that Brienne had reduced to "jumping around". The crowds seemed to like that he was doing. They were all "oohs" and "aahs" until he stopped. He regarded Gregor Clegane when they were given permission to start their fight. He was huge and lumbering, akin to a giant. Giants were clumsy, and they were easy to fell. 

 "Have they told you who I am?" he asked the Mountain.

 "Some dead man," was his reply. The man was not only large, but he carried a deep tenor as well, as befitting his size. 

 "I am the brother of Elia Martell," he continued when they started to attack one another. The first few blows were tests. They were testing the abilities of their opponent, judging the speed of one another's movements, their strength and their strategies, or at least, that was what Oberyn was doing. He did not know about the Mountain. "Do you know why I have come all the way to this stinking shit-pile of a city?" 

 There was no answer from the Mountain. He easily parried Oberyn's first strike, and the other one. When he raised his sword for a blow of his own, the Dornish prince lunged backwards, his armor barely grazed. 

 "I am going to hear you confess before you die," Oberyn continued. "You raped my sister. You murdered her. You killed her children. Say it now and we can make this quick." His blood was already boiling the moment he saw the Mountain and he wanted the whole world to know that it was Tywin Lannister who ordered the deaths of his sister and her children. 

 More blows were exchanged, and he realized that it would be a battle of attrition. He had chosen the right weapon. Even if they were roughly at the same lengths, the Mountain's sword was far too heavy to be wielded easily like his own spear. Thus, the Mountain had to make calculated movements, focusing on the economy of his strength while he could attack whenever and however he wanted. All he needed to do was to somehow ensure that the Mountain would not be able to attack him. 

 Oberyn's thoughts were interrupted by a rather successful kick on Clegane's part. He swore that he had flown a few feet from where he once stood. At the corner of his eye, he could see Ellaria with her furrowed brow, holding her fingers together as she watched and Sansa with that blank expression she always wore at court. He remembered what he had promised her, that he would keep his head, that he would remain calm no matter what happened. 

 "My loves, I will return to you in a moment's time," he shouted towards them, surely causing the ladies who watched them to swoon. Ellaria sent a flying kiss to him while Sansa, Sansa nodded and gestured towards the Mountain who was already running towards him.  

 He had anticipated that the Mountain would strike him from the left, judging by his body language, and he was right. After deflecting the heavy attack, Oberyn angled his spear and pierced the Mountain's knee. When his opponent bent over, he pulled out the spear and thrust it into the Mountain's stomach. 

 It did not seem that it was enough to stop the Mountain, although a normal man would have already keeled over and died. As Gregor Clegane tried to stand on remaining good foot, he noticed that Oberyn had left a gap when he switched his hands as he twirled his spear around. He immediately thrust his sword through the opening, only to find Oberyn successfully twisting his sword away from his hands. 

 With the greatsword well out of the Mountain's hands, Oberyn knew that it was the time for him to strike. When Clegane made to retrieve his sword, Oberyn pierced his spear cleanly through his wrist. Lowering the grip on the staff of the spear, and pulling hard on the opposite direction, he started to pry the Mountain's palm away from his arm. 

 "Say it," he hissed coolly. "You raped her, you murdered her, you killed her children." Still there was no answer from the Mountain. All he had was a grunt by the Mountain, trying to get to his sword even as his hand was hanging to the stump of his palm by a thread of sinew. 

 Oberyn easily leaped away from Clegane's trajectory and picked up his greatsword. The thing was monstrously heavy, but it was not utterly difficult to wield. In fact, it was quite well-balanced for its size, and thus ending the mystery of how a man with all-brawn could manage to use it. In one clean stroke, the entire left arm of the Mountain fell off, and Gregor Clegane roared in pain. However, even without arms, the Mountain could still be a danger. To remedy that, Oberyn moved to the side and swung another blow from the high guard with all his strength. The Mountain's legs were now severed from the knee down. 

 The Mountain was now lying in a pool of his own blood, so great that he almost seemed to be floating. He would soon die of blood loss. If Oberyn wanted a confession, he would have to get it now. 

 "Who ordered you?" he demanded, his voice bellowing in the wind. 

 "Ty... Tywin Lannis...ter." 

 Too bad it was nary a whisper, but now Oberyn had his proof and it was enough for him. 

 The Mountain no longer moved. His face was paler than the white cloaks of the Kingsguard, in fact, his entire body was, or what remained of it. 

 To be certain, Oberyn plunged the greatsword into the Mountain's chest and gouged out his heart on the sword's tip, throwing it towards those in the royal stand while he cut the head for himself. Raising it high above his own, Oberyn watched as Sansa and Ellaria ran towards him. 

* * *

 

 Sansa could not believe it when she saw her husband hold the Mountain's head aloft. It must have been an illusion. She also did not realize that she had been moving towards him when she and Ellaria collided with him, she was already crying tears of relief. Oberyn had held one hand to cup Ellaria's cheek and the other on her waist, while the Mountain's head remained forgotten for awhile. 

 How the crowd cheered for them despite he was openly kissing his two loves under the glorious afternoon sun. How he had marked them as theirs with his bloodied hands all over their bodies. 

 "The Gods have spoken," Tywin Lannister proclaimed. "By Prince Oberyn Martell's victory over Ser Gregor Clegane, Tyrion Lannister is now cleansed of all charges of regicide." The crowds cheered even louder. Oblivious to the fact that they were the ones who condemned him during his trial not a few days past. 

 Immediately, Tyrion's shackles were removed and he was free at last. The first thing he did was to march towards Oberyn and thank him profusely. 

 "I never doubted you for a moment," Tyrion told his savior. "It's a really good show though, quartering the Mountain before my sister's eyes." 

 Oberyn smiled. "I told you that I would win, didn't I?" he asked Tyrion. "I have my wife Sansa to thank," he added. "She had told me, quite literally to keep my head, so I merely took the Mountain's in exchange." 

 Sansa chuckled at his words and embraced him again. At that moment, her eyes spotted something. It was that telling glimmer of light again, the glimmer of light of the sun reflecting off the Gold Cloaks' armor. Something was wrong. Tywin Lannister and the rest of the lords were already gone, but Cersei Lannister was still there. The Gold Cloaks were still there. 

 No one else paid them any heed, and Oberyn and Ellaria had made to move back towards their pavilion with Tyrion for another round of drinks. This time, it would be wine that Tyrion would be happy to drink. Sansa looked back towards the royal stands and Cersei was still there. 

 She knew that look on Cersei's face. It only happened when Cersei thought that she was winning, that she had the upper hand. A gust of wind blew her loosely worn hair into her peripheral vision, and when she could see again, she saw that there were two crossbowmen ready to fire, one of them aiming at Tyrion and the other at Oberyn. 

 "Look out!" she shouted and moved Oberyn out of the way. He was the closest to her, so she reached for him and hoped for the best as she felt something enter her body. 

 "Sansa!" she heard him call her name. He had caught her in his arms, just before she collapsed. 

 "Cersei did this!" Tyrion exclaimed, pointing towards the stands. However, Cersei was already on the run once she realized that she had been discovered. 

 "I'll go after her," Brienne offered, but was stopped by Oberyn. 

 "No," he almost barked. "We need to get Sansa to safety. The Gods are kind, my wife is not in mortal danger. She needs proper medical attention, though." 

 "I'll go and fetch someone," Tyrion offered. 

 "Meet us in our chambers then," Oberyn returned and lifted Sansa as gently as possible. 

 "Oberyn..." he could hear her murmur his name. 

 "I am here, my love," he told her, kissing her temple for good measure. She was an incredible thing, he told himself and wondered why no one could ever see that in her. "You are safe now." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to utilize a few overlapping viewpoints for this chapter. Yes, we're all happy that Oberyn survived. Did you all like that bit of gore that the Mountain had been put through?
> 
> Cersei is going to get it for sure. That was an idiotic move, but also very, very Cersei. 
> 
> Don't worry about Sansa, she'll be fine. 
> 
> Enjoy!


	20. Reunion

 When Sansa awoke, she realized that she was in Oberyn's arms. Two seconds later, she realized that they were on horseback, and that they were riding in pitch darkness. "Where are we?" she asked her husband groggily as she rubbed her eyes. 

 "We are on the way to an inn in Bitterbridge," Oberyn answered. "After Grand Maester Pycelle removed that bolt from your back, I decided that it was time to leave that shit-hole behind us and return to Dorne. But first, I make good on my promise to you, my love." 

 Sansa furrowed her eyebrow. "I don't understand," she said. Joffrey was already dead and she was now riding with him away from King's Landing. He had obviously survived his fight with the Mountain, so what else was there that he had promised her? 

 Kissing the back of her neck, Oberyn replied, "We're on our way to see your family." Once Grand Maester Pycelle had treated Sansa's wound, he spent no time in getting the Dornish retinue to leave King's Landing and to make their way home towards Dorne. He no longer cared for what went on in the stinking capital, and as far as he was concerned, Cersei Lannister's actions alone were enough to warrant war where Dorne was concerned. However, he made no move against the Queen, nor the rest of the Lannisters. He had went to see Tywin Lannister before they left, and had told the Lord Hand that Dorne no longer wished any part of the Small Council or King's Landing, that they would see to the recovery of their princess and if anyone stood in their way, they would see only fire and death. The Dornish retinue left as soon as Sansa's wounds had healed enough. 

 "How long was I unconscious for?" Sansa asked. 

 "A good two days," Oberyn answered. "Do you remember what happened?"

 "I..." At first, everything was a blur to Sansa. She had remembered Oberyn successfully extracting the information he wanted from Gregor Clegane, that they had walked back towards their pavilion with Tyrion. Cersei... yes, she saw Cersei Lannister still at the royal stand, with a Gold Cloak armed with a crossbow. "The Queen was going to kill you or Lord Tyrion..." she recalled. 

 "And you shielded me from the bolt that was meant for me," Oberyn finished her sentence for her. "Should I thank the Gods for a brave wife or that the Gold Cloaks have terrible aim?" Sansa did not know how to answer him. "I am not angry at you, Sansa. How can I when I owe you my life?" He was sure that it was a mix of the two reasons that he had just named, and was beginning to think that his brother's choice to ally with the Starks as well as the Targaryens was surely a choice spurred by some form of foresight. 

 Sansa could only sigh. There was no rhyme or reason to her actions. She only knew that she could not lose him, for he was the one who could bring her to freedom. Now that the walls of the Red Keep no longer closed in around her, the chilly night air in her bones were a much welcomed change. She knew that she had made the right decision in shielding him with her own body. She would have given everything to one day see the open sky like she was doing at that moment. She would have given everything to see her family again. 

 "Oh, you're finally awake!" Ellaria exclaimed with some amount of joy when she brought her horse next to Oberyn's. "You gave us quite a fright, my love. Oberyn refused to leave your side until we knew that you were out of danger." Personally, she had half expected Oberyn to have called for the blood of the Lannisters, but he did not. Instead, he had secret ravens sent out to Casterly Rock, sent directly to Robb Stark instead of through their Dornish network based out of their homelands to Obara and Nymeria. They were to meet at Bitterbridge, dressed as merchants without colors or sigils. This was because House Caswell, whose seat was Bitterbridge were vassals of the Tyrells, and at that point in time, the Tyrells were no longer trusted by anyone, due to their shifting allegiances and shaky alliance with the Lannisters. 

 "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I didn't..." 

 "Hush, now," Oberyn silenced her.  "You should get more rest. I do not want to be skinned alive by your brother when I meet him."

 At least, Sansa began to chuckle although it stung her back slightly. Before King Robert came to Winterfell, Robb had taken a habit of removing any boy from staring too long at her. She was only thirteen then, but already enough to keep the young boys in Winterfell in an uproar. Oberyn told her that Robb had uneasily agreed to ally the North with Dorne, but he did not tell her of his personal reaction towards her being a Dornish princess. "I wouldn't want to speak to him at all," she mused. "He sold me to you as Viserys Targaryen sold his sister Daenerys to the Dothraki." Her words made Oberyn and Ellaria burst out in laughter, although she did not know why. "What's so funny?" she asked. 

 "Our dear King in the North said the same thing when we first met," Oberyn answered her. "And we Dornish thought that family is the strongest bond. It would seem that it is the same in the North." 

 "Ironic, isn't it?" Ellaria added. "That the ones we have the most in common with are the ones who are most distant to us. Perhaps as we cook in the deserts of Dorne, the Northerners freeze, and such extremes bring out a certain kingship?"

 "Perhaps it is why the Gods gave us the Princess of the North," Oberyn continued. "That she might remind us that there is no difference between men in the world, only similarities." 

 Sansa smiled. "Perhaps. Perhaps it's the other way around?"

* * *

Catelyn Stark had not seen her daughter in three years. Apart from the first few letters, written by her hand, but dictated by the Queen, she had no news of Sansa. With Arya, Bran and Rickon were all missing and assumed to be dead, Sansa would be her one remaining child alive next to Robb.

 For obvious reasons, she had chosen the room with its main window looking out to the Roseroad, so that she could look out and watch for any sign of riders that would come by, for any sign of a rider with red hair like hers and the same blue eyes. 

 There was nothing, no sign of anyone that she knew. Only wearied travelers and disgruntled merchants from the Reach. On the first day of her arrival at the inn with Robb and the Sand Snakes, she had been filled with hope, and when the second day passed with no sign of Sansa, she sighed at her window, clearly beginning to worry. 

 "What is taking them so long?" she asked anyone who would heed her, anyone at all. 

 "My father said that we should expect them sometime this evening," Nymeria told her. "Perhaps we should wait a little longer." 

 Taking a look at the young woman before her, Catelyn knew that she was thinking too much of herself. Both Nymeria and Obara had not seen their father since he had left for King's Landing and he just recently had the fight of his life. Yes, there were reports of Oberyn fighting Ser Gregor Clegane in a trial by combat for Tyrion Lannister, and once again, the Imp escaped death by proving that the Gods favored him. 

 Then, they heard the familiar rhythm of the hooves of horses trotting down the road. There were three riders in the front, wearing strange cowls on their heads, but behind them, Catelyn recognized Brienne of Tarth.  It must be them! 

 "Call Robb, Nymeria," she said, and the girl quickly went to get her son. 

 Catelyn was joined by Talisa on her way down the stairs, and by then, Obara and Nymeria had already been gathered into their father's arms. 

 "Papa!" they called. It was a magical thing, seeing the Sand Snakes acting thus around Oberyn. They were fierce upon the battlefield and took no nonsense at court, and for those reasons were soon becoming stalwarts of Robb's council, although they preferred to act as bodyguards, messengers and observers. To see them being returned to childish smiles when reunited with their father brought warmth to Catelyn's heart. 

 Soon, she and Talisa were joined by Robb. They could easily spot Sansa from her fair hand that peeked through the Dornish riding clothes as Oberyn helped her to get down from her horse. "These are my daughters, Obara and Nymeria," Oberyn told his wife, introducing him to the Sand Snakes, who managed to give Sansa proper curtseys despite wearing Dornish armor. They had called her "Princess", but Sansa had told them to dispense with the formality and address her by her name instead. 

 "Robb? Mother?" Sansa exclaimed when she saw them. Immediately picking up her skirts, she ran towards them as the Sand Snakes with their father. The embrace between the Starks was a bittersweet one. Three pairs of ice blue eyes were immediately red and tearing. It was a spectacular reunion, one that none of them had expected. "I missed you so much," she cried. There was even one period of time where she had thought that she would die before she would see what remained of her family again. 

 The few soldiers that Robb had taken with him immediately bowed to her. "Welcome back, Princess," they told her. While she had been accustomed to being addressed as such, it was not the same with her brother's Northern soldiers. She had always been "Lady Sansa" and nothing more. Oberyn was right. She was a princess of two territories, of Dorne and the North now. 

 "I want you to meet my wife, Talisa Maegyr," Robb said to Sansa, introducing his sister to his wife. The two of them smiled and laughed as they hugged one another. 

 "Your Grace," Sansa said to Talisa, curtsying to the Queen in the North. 

 "Princess," Talisa said, doing the same. 

 "Sister..." they then said in unison and hugged each other again.

 "There is someone I'd like you to meet," Sansa told them, almost dragging Robb and Catelyn towards the third rider. She was a classical Dornish beauty. Golden skin, dark almond-shaped eyes and black hair as dark as night.  The woman gave them a low bow and Catelyn could see that she was not a simple woman. She had the grace of a lady, but there was a certain air of... freedom to her, and it made her seem more dangerous than any woman that she had met before. "This is Ellaria Sand," she said. "She's..." 

 The pause that followed was unbearable. Oberyn looked at Catelyn and knew that the woman was already glaring daggers at Ellaria. While Sansa fumbled with the right words to say, she took both his hands and Ellaria's. 

 "She's  _our_  paramour," Sansa said, with the same iron and resolution that was never known by Robb and Catelyn. They had not seen her in court. They did not know what terrors she had to chance in order to survive in King's Landing, nor did they know how Ellaria's kindness had brought back from the brink, even when Oberyn was already infinitely gentle to her. Moreover, Ellaria was already Oberyn's wife in all but name.  _She_  was the intruder of their relationship. 

 It would be a lie to say that Robb and Catelyn were not stunned until the point where they were dumbfounded. Talisa observed as the Dornish part of her family widen their eyes in surprise, but they stood by her words. Oberyn, in particular, looked towards Robb and waited for his reaction while Catelyn's eyes went as wide as they could be. 

 "I..." she tried to speak, but found not the words to say again. 

 However, Catelyn was the one who truly broke the silence. "Welcome to our family, Ellaria," she said. Her voice was warm although her expression was not. It was a peace offering to say the least. Done to ensure that the situation was quickly put aside. 

 "Thank you, Lady Catelyn," Ellaria said. There were no family hugs for Ellaria, only a warm handshake. The Sand Snakes heaved a sigh of relief while Sansa looked as if a wind had swept over her. 

 "Well, I think a good round of supper is in order," Robb said, clearing his throat. "All of you must be famished." 

 "That's a brilliant idea," Oberyn said, only to receive a glare from Robb. Placing both of his hands upright to signify he only wanted peace, he obediently retreated to the company of his daughters and decided to let Sansa do all the talking. 

* * *

 

 "That was a stupid move, even for you," Tyrion told Cersei. Their father had Cersei holed up in her own chambers under heavy guard for her stunt after Tyrion's trial by combat for trying to Oberyn Martell, which resulted in his wife Sansa taking the blow for him. "Even if you wanted to kill me, you could've chosen a more subtle way to do it, not try in just after one of the most sensationalized trials in the history of King's Landing." 

 Cersei gave her brother a bitter chuckle. "That stupid girl should not have acted like a hero," she spat. The fact that she could no longer find an excuse to have Tyrion killed was now secondary to her worries. The fact she had openly harmed a Dornish Princess, Stark or no, was reason enough for Dorne to call to arms. Oberyn had everyone in his retinue evacuated from King's Landing and back into Dorne the moment Sansa was well enough to ride. They had disappeared in the night and no one had seen where they had went. 

 "Sansa didn't do it for the glory, you know," Tyrion jibed. "He's her husband. It's only natural if..." 

 "She barely knew the Red Viper," Cersei reasoned. "She's only known him for what... a few months?"

 "But in these few months, Oberyn's given her enough love and kindness that she's willing to risk her life for him," Tyrion countered. "What did your son ever do to her? Oh, he had his Kingsguard beat her and you humiliate her constantly." 

 By that point, Cersei was too tired to argue about anything. "She's a vicious little thing, wearing the feathers of a dove." 

 "Dove or not, if Dorne decides to band with Robb Stark in vengeance for what you'll did... Father will do everything he can do to stop another player from joining the war," Tyrion warned. "Maybe he'll marry you to Prince Doran instead?"

 "I'll kill myself before that happens," Cersei announced. She had no intention to marry again, being a wife to another man that she did not love, especially when Jaime had already returned to her. She never wanted to be a pawn used by her father again, especially when the Lannisters' hold over the Seven Kingdoms were already strong enough. She would not let her fate to be decided by men, ever again. 

 "That's not up to you," Tyrion said. "Father does as he wants, and we'll always be his pawns." 

* * *

 

 Sansa was in the room where her mother was staying in with Robb, along with Oberyn and Talisa. Dinner had been... awkward. No one knew what to say, so they ate in silence, speaking only when they needed to. Catelyn could only look at her daughter, how she was so at ease in Oberyn's company, even though it was evident that he had openly brought his... his... paramour with him. Robb had given her the worst sort of husband, and her poor daughter could do nothing but to accept it, as he was her only way out of the grasp of the Lannisters. 

 "Are you happy, Sansa?" Catelyn asked her, deciding to disregard the uncomfortable silence between them. Someone had to start the conversation, and she would do so no matter the discomfort that she would cause. They all had to go through it sooner or later. "Being a bride..."

 "I am immensely happy, Mother," Sansa answered truthfully. "Oberyn is a gentle husband, and Ellaria is very kind to me." She knew her mother's concerns on her marriage. "Without them, I don't know how I would have went through my last few days in the capital." 

 "What did the Lannisters do to you?" Robb asked her. 

 "They..." Sansa paused again. 

 "Joffrey had her beaten by his Kingsguard," Oberyn answered on behalf of Sansa. "He had her whipped or beaten whenever you won a battle. Her back is proof." Sansa placed a hand on his, but she did not stop him. She needed his voice, for she found not the words to speak. "Sansa was merely a plaything for him, although she was once betrothed to him. When I met her, she had whip-marks that weeped so much that it yellowed the silk gauze of one of her gowns." 

 Catelyn uttered a little gasp, but Sansa smiled it off. "The wounds have healed, Mother, thanks to a salve from Lord Varys," she told her. 

 "Lord Varys?" Catelyn asked. "Can the Spider really be trusted?"

 "Without the Spider, this alliance could not have existed, Lady Catelyn," Oberyn answered, still unsure on how to address his mother-in-law. "If he had not volunteered to lead the campaign to assassinate the Targaryens, Daenerys Targaryen would have been slaughtered in her cradle." Their alliance was based on the need of the Targaryen dragons as well as Daenerys Targaryen's need of their armies. None of this would have occurred without Varys' efforts. 

 "What are your plans now?" Talisa asked Oberyn. "Will you return to Dorne or will you join Robb?"

 Oberyn took a deep breath and said, "I will return to Dorne with Sansa and Ellaria," he said. "There is much to be discussed with my brother, particularly our new position against King's Landing." He had told Robb not to worry Catelyn too much with the specifics, that Sansa had been shot by Cersei's underlings. He knew that his mother-in-law tended to worry more than she should, riddled with the fact that she was very distrusting of outsiders. "As for Obara and Nymeria, they would make their own decision." 

 "Understood," Robb said. "Oberyn, I would like to speak with you about the... specifics in the morning," he said. 

 "We should all get to bed now," Catelyn said and kissed Sansa's forehead before she left for her room with Oberyn. "Good night, my dear." 

 Sansa smiled. "Good night, Mother," she said. "I'll see you in the morning." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for taking so long for this update heh heh~ I was quite busy on Friday and on Saturday and I was just able to finish it. 
> 
> This reunion was a very difficult for me to do, because I was slightly drained from the previous two chapters, so do forgive me if this is slightly lackluster compared to the others. 
> 
> Enjoy!!


	21. Stake Your Claim

 Ellaria was smiling like a fox when Sansa and Oberyn had returned from Catelyn's room. She was ultimately thankful that her lover's wife had so boldly claimed her as hers as well to diffuse the situation, and she knew that Sansa had meant those words, because she had never once shied away from her. So when Oberyn had gone to the bath-house to wash before bed, she approached Sansa. 

 "Your mother seems to be... adjusting to our little situation, is she not?" Ellaria asked Sansa, who had sat on the bed, obviously tired from the night's activities. Although it was the first time Ellaria had met Catelyn Stark, she knew from reputation that she was a fierce woman who cared deeply for her family, and that would mean defending her and hers in any situation necessary. Sansa had told Oberyn and her on how she coldly she had treated Jon Snow, and once feared that her mother would not accept Ellaria no matter what she tried. 

 Sansa sighed. "She only did it because she knows that there's no way out," she explained to Ellaria even as the latter brought her into her arms. "I did get into a political marriage, after all. But she wouldn't make you feel as though you belong. She'll..." 

 "Shh, my love," Ellaria soothed. "Whether or not your mother accepts what I am to you is not important to me, but the fact that you have openly acknowledged me before your family is." She brought Sansa's lips to hers, a light kiss but filled with promise. "And now that you have staked your claim, perhaps you'll want to have it now?"

 "They would hear us," Sansa cautioned as Ellaria had began peppering sweet kisses all over her face and neck, purring in anticipation after each one. Their lips met, and it was a kiss that Sansa had never experienced before. Where Oberyn's had been heated and hungry, Ellaria's had been sweet and cool. She found herself being drawn into the other woman, wanting to know what else she would offer to her. 

 With deft and swift hands, Ellaria had already managed to unlace her gown (Sansa had chosen to wear one of her older gowns to see her family) and smiled when she found the light breast-wraps she had the same instead of a corset. The poor girl was always having injuries on her back and a few months in Dornish gowns would have rendered her unused to the constricting undergarment. It said a lot about the tastes of men in the northern regions of Westeros, though. They liked their women with small waists and pronounced breasts, things which were quite impossible unless one was to truly blessed by the Gods. 

 Ellaria first laid her hands on Sansa's breasts, cupping them gently. She flicked her tongue across Sansa's nipple, and in return, Sansa started to nibble on the arch of Ellaria's neck. When Ellaria had started to teach her about the marital bed, all she did was lie on her back back and listen to what Ellaria had to say. What she had experienced now was totally new to her. She did short work of Ellaria's dress, merely lifting it over her head, and they began to explore one another again. 

 Sansa had almost expected Ellaria to taste like honey, given her golden skin. It was hard to imagine that she would smell of orange-flowers instead, but she did. Step by step, she emulated what Ellaria had done with her, and soon found herself to be beneath the older woman, who was looking at her as if she was her prey. "A woman's core is the center of her pleasure," Ellaria explained to her, bringing her hand to Sansa's womanhood and began to rub her pearl in circular motions. "Oftentimes, men do not remember this and only think about thrusting like a boar." 

 It was a thrilling thing to watch, Sansa biting her lips to stop herself from crying out in pleasure. The sensation of her nipples against Ellaria's, the strange, but almost natural way that they had ground their nether regions together even as they knelt on the bed... Sansa might no longer be a virgin, but she was so inexperienced to a woman's touch, she might as well be one. 

 Ellaria commanded every one of her sensations. The touch of her soft skin, her scent, the sight of her long, black hair cascading down her back, the taste of her lips and how she had purred into her ear whenever Sansa reciprocated in everything that she had done. Soon, the two women found themselves locked into one another and began to rub their genitals together. It was the contact between the cores of their being that gave them pleasure, and by moving as one, it was mutual, one where ecstasy came easily. 

 They did not know how long they remained in that position, but they were aware when Oberyn came in, he had held Ellaria in his arms, but his lips sought Sansa's. Not to be defeated, Ellaria joined in as well. There was something particularly... enticing to feel three pairs of lips against one another, three tongues and a mess of bodies. Sansa sighed silently as she clearly saw Oberyn slowly ease himself into Ellaria's sheath while they each started to pleasure her breasts. Realizing that the walls were definitely thinner, she purposely sought Oberyn's lips to silence herself after finding Ellaria's fingers within her womanhood, imitating every one of Oberyn's thrusts within Ellaria to herself. 

 If this was what it felt like to share a woman with her husband, Sansa asked herself why every other woman in Westeros would go against the very idea of this premise. Perhaps it was the fact that the women that their husbands found were not as beautiful or open like Ellaria... Everything had been a haze, and she did not know where whose body started and where it ended. It all mattered little to her, only that she knew that she was soon reaching her climax. 

 Her eyes grew wide when she felt Oberyn enter her. It was a slow process, her body being still unused to his girth. She knew that he was helping her to get used to him,  and thankfully, she had recovered from the initial contact faster than she did on their first time together. She had rode him that night, and now he had mounted her with Ellaria pressed over her. 

 There was something highly powerful about it, the three of them having one another. It felt as if a piece of her had returned, a piece that she had been born without, so that they could return to her. It had felt poetic enough for her, she reckoned, as Oberyn spilled his seed over Ellaria's back, just right after Ellaria had almost cried out her orgasm and slightly before hers. 

 By then, it would have been futile to have tried to hide whatever they were doing. Everyone must have heard them. 

 "You are dreading breakfast tomorrow, aren't you?" Oberyn asked Sansa. 

 She nodded. "I've... never..." 

 "Do not worry, your mother and brother would have to live with it," he told her. "There is nothing more natural in this world than the embrace of lovers." 

 "My family's not Dornish like yours," Sansa reminded him with a kiss to his nose. Ellaria was already fast asleep, spent from their first venture as a threesome. "They  _won't_  get used to it." 

* * *

 Robb was unfortunate enough to be in the room directly beside Sansa's. To add to his ill-fortune, their beds must have been placed opposite one another's parted only by the thin walls. 

 At first, he had heard muted gasps. These were soft and mewling, but they were many. It was as if there were... two women. It struck him that Sansa had meant every word that Ellaria was her paramour with Oberyn, and he could not sleep no matter how Talisa had hit him with her pillow. 

 Sharing a bed with a woman would be quite... natural. It was quite normal for ladies to sleep in the same bed. However, Robb was not sure as to what really happened between the sheets, and but all the same it was a... harrowing experience, and when he obviously heard a third voice... 

 "Your bannermen would laugh when they hear about this," Talisa warned him when she found him packing his pillow to shield his ears from what went on in the room next to theirs. 

 "Try sleeping when you can practically hear your sister going at it in the marital bad," Robb groaned, clearly unhappy that his wife was not sympathizing with him. 

 "You were worried if Sansa was going to be happy in her marriage," Talisa recounted. "Now, Oberyn proves that he is not only a worthy husband but his woman is also clearly attract to your sister and you fret because they are celebrating their love..." 

 Robb sighed. There was still much of his world that his wife did not know of, but he knew that what she said was true, in the essence of how the world worked. He knew that no matter how his sister lived, her happiness took precedence and he knew that she was happy. He had seen it in how easily she had held herself with Oberyn, how she had seemed so... different from when she had left Winterfell with her father. 

 "Trust a woman's instincts, Robb," Talisa told her husband. "They are the salve to whatever wounds she has had to bear. Let them guide her where you cannot." 

 "She can't be my little sister forever, can't she?" Robb asked. "Sansa'll have a different path than mine." 

 "But surely, one that would end in the same place," Talisa reassured him. "A different journey, but the same destination." 

* * *

 The next morning, Sansa had donned a scarf around her neck, carefully pushed into her gown to look as if it was part of her outfit to hide the marks that Oberyn and Ellaria left on the back of her neck. Catelyn had brushed it off as perhaps a new style worn in the capital, but Robb's eyes almost bulged out of their sockets when he thought what he saw were purplish marks that clearly appeared to be embroidery upon the scarves. 

 Breakfast went on as pleasantly as it could. Catelyn had tried her best to converse with Ellaria although her lips remained pursed tightly, asking her about her family and how she had been raised. At that time, Sansa had not known her mother to have known so many barbs, and looked as if she wanted to protest, but Oberyn caught her hand before she could do anything and shook his head subtly. Ellaria would easily defend herself from the barbs of a hawkish woman as easily as she could those that wished her ill. 

 Talisa, on the other hand, was wonderful. Sansa was very happy for her brother to have found such a Queen. She was wise and understanding, a queen with a heart made of gold. "Robb might not be partial to boys or girls, but I would love to give him an Eddard soon," she confided in Sansa as she brought her new sister-in-law's hand to her growing belly. "And you're lucky that you needn't worry about children. Obara and Nymeria are excellent warriors and soldiers." 

 The Sand Snakes thanked Talisa for their praise. "The Queen is too kind with her words," Nymeria said. "But we are happy that you, Papa and Ellaria are getting along well even if..."  She gave a careful sideways eye towards Catelyn and Sansa nodded. 

 "I would have to be careful not to get on Lady Catelyn's bad side," Obara declared quietly. "Her Grace only got off all that... tension when she announced that she was pregnant." 

 It was at that exact same moment when Ellaria had inconspicuously let slip that she was the mother of four of Oberyn's youngest daughter that Catelyn stood up with her hands against the table rather loudly. "I'm sorry, you will all have to forgive me," she announced. "I am feeling a little... unwell to continue breakfast." It was a a lady's last card to play, and she had thought that her son would at least make her stay. For whatever reason, Robb did not do as she expected and she coolly walked away from the breakfast table and could be heard stomping up the stairs. 

 "I'm so sorry for how Mother's acting," Sansa apologized to Ellaria, herself close to tears. She had thought that her mother would be at least easier to convince than her brother, and now it seemed like it would be the opposite. 

 "Don't apologize for your mother, my love," Ellaria told her. "Not everyone out of Dorne would understand." Somehow, there were knowing looks between herself and Talisa. It was concluded then and there that it took much for Catelyn Stark overcome her dislike and distrust of anyone outside her circle. 

 "I should go and speak to her," Sansa offered, but was stopped by Robb. 

 "Let Mother be, Sansa," Robb told her. "She won't listen to you when she's being stubborn. She'll come around when the time comes." 

 Talisa smiled and brought her sister-in-law back into her seat. "lady Catelyn was cold to me when I first came to your brother, and she couldn't tolerate the sight of me when we got married because Robb had gone against his pact to marry one of Walder Frey's daughters." 

 "We all want who we want," Ellaria concluded, walking over to give Sansa a hug. "Don't worry, your mother's barbs aren't anything that I cannot handle." 

 It was only then did Sansa heave a sigh of relief and nodded, all while Robb quietly squirmed at his seat. His wife was right, he need not add another burden upon his sister, especially when she had just been returned to them. 

* * *

 

 At high noon, Oberyn met with Robb and the Blackfish, who had just arrived from Casterly Rock in Robb's room while the womenfolk spent it separately. Catelyn was still seething from breakfast while Sansa had decided that she would start making clothes for Talisa's baby with whatever supplies the inn had, leaving Ellaria with Talisa to learn about one another. 

 "There is one important thing you must know about Sansa," Oberyn declared. "She's a Warg. I've seen her Warg into Grey Wind once and she claimed to have seen Daenerys Targaryen buying 8000 Unsullied in Astapor." 

 Robb's jaw practically unhinged itself. "A... Warg?" he repeated. "When?"

 "On the second morning after I arrived in King's Landing. She was lucky that she was with me," Oberyn answered. "She described Casterly Rock as though as she had seen it with her own eyes." 

 The Blackfish scratched his own chin. "The Starks are descendants of the First Men, who had many gifts," he reasoned. "It wouldn't be a surprise that it would manifest in this generation." 

 "How does it change anything?" Robb asked. "Even if she can see through the eyes of beasts..." 

 "She didn't say it, but I suspect that she had warged into one of Daenerys' dragons," Oberyn said, naming his suspicions. "Astapor isn't a particularly animal-friendly port. It deals only in Unsullied and other slaves. What other animals  _could_  there be for her to warg into?"

 "So you are saying that if Sansa can warg into a dragon," Robb said cautiously, "We might be able to use them in battle?"

 Oberyn chuckled. "Reports say that the Silver Queen loves her dragons like how a mother loves her children. She will never give them up easily. However, with Targaryen dragon-lore lost to the world, she might not be able to control them as easily..." 

 "... which is where Sansa comes in?" Robb finished Oberyn's sentence uneasily. "What if the Targaryen girl doesn't need Sansa's help, what would you do then?"

 "I will have her by my side and I will protect her no matter what it takes," Oberyn promised Robb. "However, if she is able to master her gift, I will not stop her, nor must you." 

 "You would have my sister cross the Narrow Sea alone?" Robb demanded. He would not have his sister face the dangers of a strange land all by herself. 

 "When the fighting breaks out, neither you nor I are truly able to keep her safe, Robb," Oberyn said. "She would be safer in the service of the Targaryen girl than anywhere in Westeros." 

 Robb fell silent. He thought back on what his wife had told him before and he knew that it might be true. "Only if this is the path that she chooses," he warned Oberyn. "She's my sister and she'll come home with us if she wants to." 

 "But of course," Oberyn replied. "And now, since the Lannisters had openly tried to kill me after I won Tyrion's trial by combat, I would reckon that they are sending themselves to us on a silver platter." Robb had acknowledged that he knew that Sansa had defended Oberyn from a crossbow bolt. He only let Oberyn go because Sansa was not in any grave danger. 

 "They're the most faithless lot anyone's known," Brynden Tully spat. "No doubt King's Landing's been talking shit about them by now." 

 Oberyn shrugged. "I wasn't there to witness the aftermath," he said. "But before we left, we heard that Cersei was put under heavy guard by her own father. She must have acted alone." 

 "So you'll return to Dorne and strategize with your brother," Robb said. "Because what happened to you can most possibly be an act of war." 

 "My brother might want to take a more cautious route," Oberyn said, supporting Robb's guess. "But I am not the one who would make the decisions. If I had fallen during the trial, my daughters would have raised whatever fighters they have in Dorne under Ellaria. Doran would not want that under his name. He works for the safety and Dorne and would not risk anything unless it is worth risking for." 

 "Thank the Gods that you survived then," Robb said. "Winter is coming and the only we can hope to win this bloody war is by moving forwards." 

 Oberyn smirk and nodded his head. "You can't be more right," he said. "Every day we live is a spit in the faces of our enemies. Remember that, Young Wolf." 

 "Oh, I will," Robb said. "I just worry that you won't be there to bite my dust when we take King's Landing." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised a SansaXOberynXEllaria scene, and now I've written one, WOOTS! 
> 
> Yes, Robb heard EVERYTHING. 
> 
> Catelyn's not being a bitch, it's just a little hard for her to understand everything that her little girl is going through. Remember, not everyone is Dornish where they don't give a fuck about who you're fucking. 
> 
> Enjoy!


	22. Return

 As much as Sansa had dreaded it, they had to leave the next day. She had thought that she would be with her family for a longer span of time, but Robb could not be absent from Casterly Rock for too long while they had to be back in Dorne as soon as possible to avoid any complications from the Lannisters. 

"Where will you go?" Oberyn asked his daughters during breakfast. "You are free to choose, my dears, to stay with Robb or to go back to Dorne with us." 

Obara and Nymeria looked at one another. They had made their decision a long time ago. "A little bit of foreign air would do us good," Obara told Oberyn, smirking towards Nymeria. He had three adult daughters, and the two oldest were closest in age and they had always worked together. They were a perfect team. Obara often talked with her fists, but Nymeria was calmer and more analytical. Tyene, the third Sand Snake had wanted to come with them badly, but Oberyn knew that she would be too brash and would instead cause undue danger to herself.

"Tell Tyene that we miss our little sister," Nymeria added. "She must miss us having to beat her up all the time too..."

"B... beat her?" Sansa asked, her blue eyes widened.

"Oh no, Sansa," Nymeria immediately added. "It's just some sisterly competition." 

However, Obara rolled her eyes. "They're vicious bitches, those two," she explained further. "I have to constantly watch my back." 

Sansa chuckled. "I used to be like that with my sister, Arya, too," she told Obara and Nymeria. "We'd used to fight all the time. One time, Arya put sheep dung into my mattress without me realizing it and I smelled bad for weeks until we flipped the mattress over and found it what she had done." 

Nymeria grimaced while Obara scrunched up her face in disgust. It seemed that they would have understood that it was a terrible fate to have suffered, but smiled when their new stepmother was able to at least relate to them. She was probably younger than they were, but they knew that she held a certain strength in her that all Dornishmen had. They had come to know that the Northmen had them too, after fighting by their side and observing them for months now. It was then when they decided that they rather liked Sansa, despite the fact that she looked like a huge doll beside their father, especially with her almost white skin and her fiery red hair. It was a strange match, but by the way Oberyn and Ellaria had looked so comfortable and... sated... around her, the Sand Snakes would be happy for their father. 

"I'm sorry to be so late," Catelyn announced when she got to the table, taking her seat next to Sansa. "The Queen has had a bout of morning sickness, the poor dear. Robb is still with her, so he asks us not to wait for them." She then turned towards Sansa and said, "You will know all about that sooner or later."   
"Motherhood is a beautiful gift," Ellaria offered. She had dispensed with the words "my love" for now, especially when she was in Catelyn's presence. "But for some, it is a terribly uncomfortable one." 

Luckily for her, Catelyn seemed to agree. "When I had Sansa, I was bound to my bed for months. Nothing agreed with me and I only ate oats with milk until I delivered her." There had been a change in Catelyn. Although she was not immediately accepting of Ellaria, she at least seemed to be tolerating her presence and was talking to her civilly. In fact, she seemed to be very deep in thought, but tried to hide it by making small talk. She then looked towards Oberyn and asked, "Will you have Sansa's children by you be warriors like their older sisters?"

Oberyn cleared his throat. "They will all learn to fight, girl or boy, as is the custom of House Martell," he said. Equal opportunity was the gift of the Dornish, and being the overlords of Dorne, every child born to the line was martially trained. It was a way for them to bond together, as not only brothers (or sisters) in blood but also in arms. "If they have other talents, then they would develop them freely." After all, he was a second-born son. He had no responsibilities other than to serve Dorne. He had technically done so by marrying Sansa, to forge a bond with the North. His two daughters are willing participants in Robb's army as well, to add to his list of accomplished responsibilities. However, he took Sansa's hand in his and said, "However, I regret to say that Sansa and I will not be having children until this war winds down, if we can help it." 

Catelyn was surprised to say the least. "I had Robb right in the Rebellion," she recounted. "But, perhaps it would be wise to raise children in times of peace." Even if they were all vicious snakes, Catelyn could at least understand that the Dornish loved their children. 

"You should come with us, Mother," Sansa offered, knowing that it was only for the sake of offering. Even if she did not sit in Robb's war councils, she was now helping his queen through her first pregnancy and she knew that it would be an important one for Robb. A healthy child would mean more healthy heirs, and the Starks were already dwindling as it were. 

"I would love to," Catelyn replied pointedly. "But I'm needed here, even more so by Talisa and the baby. Perhaps when the war winds down, we can all come to Dorne to see you."Sansa smiled. It was a good thing to hope for. "You would always be welcome in Dorne, Lady Catelyn," Oberyn said, stopping abruptly when Catelyn tutted.  
"I think you should call me 'Mother'," Catelyn corrected him. "Or aren't you married to my Sansa?"

"You'll always be welcome in Dorne, Mother," Oberyn repeated. Oh, she was a formidable woman, Catelyn Stark. Whoever knew that trouts from the Riverlands could carry such deep barbs. She wasn't merely making him part of her family, she was asserting her dominance over him as his mother-in-law. It was an underhanded move, one that was now difficult to undo. At least he now knew where Sansa had inherited her polital acumen and sharp instincts from.

Sansa sighed. In the very least, there was peace now between her mother, husband and Ellaria, however watchful and turbulent it was. It would set much of her worries aside. "I leave my family in your care then, Obara and Nymeria," she told her husband's daughters. 

"It is our honor, Sansa," Obara replied. "Rest assured that they are in good hands." 

"Maybe you should join Robb's Kingsguard, Obara," Oberyn teased. "Lady Commander Obara Sand sounds nice." 

"I said I wanted foreign air, not foreign service, Papa," Obara responded bluntly. She felt no compulsion to bind herself to anyone, and would serve as long as she saw fit. If anyone wanted to be technical about it, she knew that she and Nymeria would be considered to be "political hostages" in the Stark-Martell alliance. They would serve until it was no longer needed for them to do so. 

When Oberyn's eyes turned to Nymeria, she raised an eyebrow. "Don't look at me, I'm just here to make sure that Obara doesn't make a mess of things," she said. 

"Watch it, Nym," Obara spat. 

"See?"

"I'll miss you girls arguing all the time," Ellaria sighed, absently caressing Nymeria's braid. "It is such good entertainment." 

"Give Robb hell for me," Oberyn added. When Sansa balked and tutted, he asked, "What? Someone has to make sure that he doesn't overwork himself!" 

* * *

 

Afternoon came, and it was time for them to go their separate ways. 

"I'll miss you all very much," Sansa told her mother and brother as they gave one another a final embrace. "May we see each other again soon." There were no tears, because they could now at least hope to see one another again. That day would come when they would take King's Landing together with Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons. She was certain of it. 

"The days will just fly past," Catelyn told her daughter. "We'll be together in no time." 

"Perhaps we should all go back to Winterfell together," Robb suggested. "It's been years since we've been home." 

Sansa nodded. When she had left Winterfell, she was a stupid little girl who only hoped of being Queen, dreaming of the capital, of lemon cakes and fancy gowns. If she had known the price of her dreams coming true, she would have bolted her door in her room and begged her father to stay and not leave with the King. She then turned towards Talisa and said, "All the best for the rest of your pregnancy, sister. I hope the Gods will bless you and Robb with a healthy baby." 

Talisa smiled. "I thank you for your prayers," she said, holding Sansa's hands in hers warmly. "I pray that you will be very happy in Dorne with your new family." She could see many similarities between Sansa and Robb. They were both polite and strong-willed, both prodigies in either warfare or statecraft and they learned on their feet. If those two days they had were any indicator, she knew that Sansa would be a pleasant sister-in-law and a wonderful aunt to her future child and the ones that might follow. 

Robb, on the other hand, was regarding Oberyn with his usual distrusting glare. "If Sansa has any complaints at all, I'd march my men to Dorne and take her back to Winterfell where she belongs," he threatened Oberyn. 

"You will have to contend with Ellaria before you even try," Oberyn returned with a playful smirk. The boy's mouth turned agape, surely the memory of their fight night in Bitterbridge surfacing in his memory. He turned as red as Sansa's hair and even Nymeria could not help giggling at his reaction. "Don't worry, Your Grace, your sister is in loving hands." 

"We'll certainly take care of Sansa, Your Grace," Ellaria replied. "You have my word." She shared a glance with Catelyn and gave her a curt nod. Her gesture was duly returned and she knew that Sansa's heart was lightened. 

"We'd best be on our way then," Oberyn said, getting on his horse after he had helped Ellaria and Sansa get on theirs. Brienne of Tarth was already on hers, ready to follow Sansa to Dorne. "I leave my daughters in your care, King Robb. With any luck, perhaps I should send a third your way." 

Robb smirked in reply. "I will gladly welcome any one of Sansa's nieces if they are willing to join me," he said. "Obara and Lady Nym have proved to be excellent warriors. If you don't mind, I would like to raise Obara as a formal Captain and Lady Nym as her lieutenant." Those were new ranks in his still-renewing army, because he realized that age-old oaths were no use to those who were so distant to him. 

 The Sand Snakes looked at each other in surprise, while their father nodded in appreciation. "Do not let King Robb down, my dears," he told them. "I wish you well, Captain and Lieutenant Sand." 

"Safe journeys," Catelyn wished them all. "Please try to write back when you've arrived." 

 "I will, Mother," Sansa promised. "Safe journeys back to Casterly Rock as well." 

 Talisa held Catelyn's hand as they watched the Dornish party ride away. From Bitterbridge, they would go further down the Roseroad until they reached Cider Hall, and then turn towards the Prince's Pass into Dorne. Catelyn was forcing back tears, no doubt. It was hard on her, to be reunited with her daughter only to be parted from her again. In those two days, Sansa had not even told her of her suffering in King's Landing, but she could see it in her eyes. Her daughter had become completely different person, one that she had not known, but one that Oberyn (and Ellaria to whatever extent) had loved. Sansa was now more confident, and no longer shied from what was different, out of the ordinary. Her daughter used to wish for elegant dances, but now she understood strategy and statecraft as if she was born for it. Just listening her talk about the comings and goings of King's Landing was more than enough. 

"Come," Robb told his wife and mother. "We'll need to be heading back as well." 

* * *

 

"They are taking too long," Tyene grumbled as she was having tea with Prince Doran, Oberyn's brother and Princess Myrcella, her cousin Trystane's intended in their family's private living quarters in the Water Gardens. It had been two weeks since word had been sent out that the Dornish party would be leaving King's Landing, and yet there was no sight of her parents at all. 

"Patience, Tyene," Doran advised. "The roads will be a little bit difficult to traverse, particularly with the turning weather." With the long summer at an end, the weather was beginning to take a colder change. In Dorne, it did not mean plummeting temperatures, but more rain and moisture. It would make the deserts are more hospitable place, but the passages in the Dornish mountains difficult to travel in. 

"Will Prince Oberyn be bringing San... er... Princess Sansa along?" Myrcella asked. She had fumbled over Sansa's title for a moment. Sansa had never been a princess, although she was once meant to be Joffrey's queen. 

 Doran nodded. "But of course," he said. "Dorne will welcome her new princess with open arms. You are a friend to Sansa Stark, are you not, princess?"

 "Yes, she was so lovely and kind to me before I came here," Myrcella confirmed. She remembered that Sansa was quite excited to be married to her brother, not knowing how unkind he could actually be. Joffrey puzzled her. He was nothing like her or Tommen, and he was always mean to everyone, even their mother at times. A part of her thought that it was good that he had died, so that no one could be hurt again. It was bad enough that he had started a war... 

 Doran smiled. "There, you have nothing to fear, Tyene," he told his niece. "Your father's wife will not be likely to seek to usurp your mother's position." Tyene looked at him half in surprise and half in shock. It was evident to him that it did not occur to her for him to know her thoughts. The Sand Snakes were all bastard daughters, all eight of them, no matter how much Oberyn loved them. If he and Sansa had any children, those children would take precedence over them. "She is a girl of sixteen, Tyene, even younger than you are. What could she do to your sisters and Ellaria?"

 Tyene sighed. "I hope you are right, Uncle," she said. "They say that this Sansa Stark is beautiful. Her hair is red like fire and her skin is white like snow... Is it true, Princess?"

 Myrcella nodded at the description, but somehow, her expression seemed to disagree. She never particularly thought Sansa as to being beautiful. She found her too pale, so pale that her skin looked splotchy. But she had not seen Sansa in a long while now, and perhaps during then Sansa would have changed somewhat. 

 Just then, Sarella and Elia came into the seating area excitedly. "Trystane's seen them! He's seen Papa and Mama riding here from Sunspear. He's gone out to meet them!" Elia announced. 

 "Well then, what are we waiting for?" Doran asked. "Get all your sisters, we are welcoming them home!" 

 Sansa had never seen such a structure before. Her journey into Dorne had been eye-opening, and she had learned much of her future home from Oberyn and Ellaria, but when they came into the Water Gardens, she could not believe that such an oasis could actually exist. The Water Gardens were aptly named, there were several large pools and also fountains, surrounded by lush gardens. However, she could also see that it was a working fortress. The walls were thick and high, enough to withstand attack, she reckoned. 

 "What do you think?" Oberyn asked her. "Impressive, is it not?"

"It is," Sansa said in bewilderment. "It's beautiful!" 

 "You will love it here, my love," Ellaria said. "And so will you, Brienne."

 Brienne managed an awkward smile. "It's a little too hot for me though, but I'll manage," she said, trying not to complain too much. Already she had switched into Dornish leather armor, but she was still unused to the heat. 

 "When will I see the rest of your daughters?" Sansa asked Oberyn. She had hoped that the other six Sand Snakes were as easily used to her as Obara and Nymeria. She did not expect them to take to her immediately, but she prayed that she would have pleasant dealings with them. 

 "Almost immediately if they can't help it," Ellaria chuckled. "They love their father dearly." She went on to explain how Tyene and Sarella, whose mothers had left them at Oberyn's feet at the same time when she was heavily pregnant with Elia, had come to acknowledge her as their mother as well. So, although she was technically the mother of the four youngest Sand Snakes, she had mothered six of them. "Don't worry, my love, they will grow to love you too." 

 Sansa nodded in understanding. She knew that she would never be able to replace Ellaria as their mother, but she hoped that they would look upon her as part of their family as well. Perhaps it would take a long time, but she was willing to take upon that journey. It was the least she could do for her husband's family. 

 They took a left turn and were met with a strapping young lad who had an air of poised nobility about him. "Uncle, we have kept us waiting for too long!" he said to Oberyn after a warm embrace. 

 "We've hit a patch of rough weather at the Prince's Pass," Oberyn said before introducing his wife to his nephew. "Trystane, I'd like you to meet my wife, Sansa of Winterfell, as well as her sworn-sword Lady Brienne of Tarth." 

 Trystane promptly kissed Sansa's hand, calling her "Auntie Sansa" in the most charming manner. "Lady Brienne," he said with a curt nod after Brienne indicated that she did not want her hand to be kissed. He'd gave Ellaria a quick hug as well. "Come, my father and the girls are all waiting for you," he said, personally leading Sansa by the arm. 

 Sansa let Trystane guide her into what seemed to be a well-guarded section of the Water Gardens, and the first thing she saw was a row of girls, all dark haired and dark eyed. Although their faces differed slightly, they all had Oberyn's eyes. The man seated upon the grandest chair was no doubt her brother-in-law, Prince Doran. Furthest to the right was a familiar face. It was Princess Myrcella, Joffrey's sister. She was taller than what Sansa had remembered, but no less beautiful. 

 "Welcome to Dorne and the Water Gardens, sister," Doran proclaimed when Sansa gave him a low curtsy and kissed him on the cheek. "I am glad to see that you have made it with my brother and Ellaria." 

 "You sent me off to King's Landing and the Riverlands to acquire an alliance and a wife, and I bring you Sansa Stark, Princess of the North," Oberyn told Doran. "Where is my reward?"

 Doran smiled widely. "You heard him, girls," he turned towards the six Sand Snakes. "Go to your father." Immediately, Oberyn and Ellaria were swarmed by chuckling girls of varying ages. Sansa felt a bit overwhelmed. She had never seen so many children in one go, and they were all her stepdaughters, even the older ones who looked as if they could be older than her in age. 

 "Sansa, come," Ellaria gestured to Sansa, and took her hand. "Girls, this is Princess Sansa, and she is Papa's new wife. You are to give her the same respect you give to your father, Uncle Doran and I, am I clear?" 

 "Please, call me Sansa," Sansa said, repeating the same thing she had said to Obara and Nymeria. The four youngest rushed to Sansa and happily gave her hugs and kisses, while Tyene and Sarella eyed her curiously. "Let's just start from being friends first." She offered her hand to them and Tyene took it. 

 "Welcome home, Sansa," Tyene said. "I hope that you are happy here with Papa and all of us." 

 Sarella shook her hand as well, but also kissed her cheek for good measure. "She's a little paranoid, don't worry about her," she whispered into Sansa's ear. 

 Doran cleared his throat. "Now that we're all properly acquainted, perhaps we should have dinner served? You must be famished from your journey." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm, I wonder what made Cat change her attitude about Ellaria?
> 
> Many shots were fired in this chapter, heh heh. I had fun writing them. 
> 
> There are so many Sand Snakes I cannot keep track of them. Urgh. 
> 
> P.S: I miss Jon Snow already.


	23. Brothers

  There was a new man that they brought to see Mother. He was lifted into Mother's presence, as if he could not walk by strong men, and he was proud of it. She had never seen a more peculiar thing in her life before. She didn't like him at all. He looked at Mother as though she was something dumb and stupid, although he might not have said it in his words. 

 "Now comes the noble Razdal mo Eraz of that ancient and honorable house, master of men and speaker to savages, to offer terms of peace," Mother's little translator, Missandei said. She was a pretty thing with curled hair so wiry that they stood on end. Her entire head looked like a circle. Mother liked her because she was pleasant and could speak many languages. She and her siblings screeched at the strange man, and he retreated slightly in disgust. However, Missandei continued, "Noble lord, you are in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons." 

 The man did not seem to be impressed with Mother's titles and had his eyes fixed upon her. We didn't like him at all. However, Mother didn't seem to mind him at all. "You may approach," she told the man. "Sit." 

 Uneasily, the man sat on the chair he was given, and took a drink from the cup that Missandei had given him. "Ancient and glorious is Yunkai," he told Mother. "Our empire was old before dragons stirred in old Valyria. Many an army has broken against our walls, you shall find no easy conquest here, Khaleesi." 

 It was a threat and she and her siblings understood it. Together, they screeched at him for speaking thusly to their mother, threatening him in turn. He would regret it if he did anything that they didn't like. 

 However, Mother remained calm. "Good," she chirped, almost happily. "My Unsullied need practice. I was told to blood them early." 

 "If blood is your desire, blood shall flow," the man returned. "But why? 'Tis true, you have committed savagery in Astapor, but the Yunkai are a forgiving and generous people. The Wise Masters of Yunkai have sent a gift for the Silver Queen." As he spoke, small, shaking men moved a heavy chest into the tent and opened it. Whatever was inside the chest was yellow and shiny. It made Jorah and Barristan's eyes widen too. What was it? "There is far more than this awaiting you on the deck of your ship." 

 Mother looked curious. "My ship?" she asked him. 

 "Yes, Khaleesi. As I said, we are a generous people. You shall have as many ships as you require." 

 Mother knew that it was a trap. "And what do you ask in return?" she asked him. 

 "All we ask is that you make use of these ships," he told her frankly. "Sail them back to Westeros where you belong and leave us to conduct our affairs in peace." Oh, so that was his price. He wanted Mother to leave his lands. 

 Mother's sweet expression remained. "I have a gift for you as well," she said. "Your life." 

 The man was taken aback. He did not understand what Mother was talking about. "My life?" he asked her. 

 "And the lives of your Wise Masters," she said. "But I also want something in return: you will release every slave in Yunkai. Every man, woman and child shall be given as much food, clothing and property as they can carry as payment for their years of servitude. Reject this gift and I shall show you no mercy." 

 The man was enraged. "You are mad!" he scolded Mother. "We are not Astapor or Qarth. We are Yunkai and we have powerful friends, friends who would take great pleasure in destroying you. Those who survive, we shall enslave once more. Perhaps we'll make a slave of you as well!" 

 It was the last straw that she and her siblings would take. They screeched and hissed at the man, and would willingly set him on fire if Mother would let them. 

 "You swore me safe conduct!" he said, cowering before her and her siblings. He was pleading to Mother to keep him safe, but he had crossed too many lines. We won't let him go at all. 

 "I did," Mother replied. "But my dragons made no promises, and you threatened their mother." 

 In the very least, his temper seemed to have calmed down. "Take the gold," he said to his servants, referring to the chest. However, Drogon flew onto the chest and closed the lid shut with his weight. No one dared to approach the chest after that. 

 "My gold," Mother said, her voice now menacing, although it was still rather soft. "You gave it to me, remember? I shall put it to good use, but you'd be wise to do the same with my gift to you, now get out." 

 The man quickly scattered out of Mother's tent with his men. He didn't even need to be lifted at all.

* * *

 

 Sansa had been Oberyn's arms when she woke in cold sweat, panting. The Sand Snakes were all over her, and Ellaria looked upon her with worry. Myrcella had been in tears and Brienne looked more confused than ever. 

 As she rose with Oberyn's help, she saw her husband nod to his brother. "Leave us," Doran said, looking directly towards Sansa. Marvel was in his eyes. Marvel and a renewed hope. "We live in a strange age, sister," he told her. "Twenty years ago, dragons were mere legends, and now, they appear in the world. We hear rumors of White Walkers north of the Wall and you, a daughter of the Stark line and a Warg. Magic lives in this world again, dear one." 

 "What did you see?" Oberyn asked her gently, his words almost a whisper. His lips had brushed her earlobe, his arms holding her back and the back of her knees, her arms around his neck. 

 Her silence did not mean that she was afraid of what she had seen. It had only meant that she was trying to collect her thoughts. "I was... one of the smaller Targaryen dragons," she said haltingly. That in itself was a thing that no one would have believed her. No one had ever warged into a dragon before. "I saw a Yunkai noble bartering with Daenerys, but she refused him. She would sack Yunkai and free the slaves as she did in Astapor." 

 Doran looked grim. "We need her to cross the Narrow Sea, not to free slaves," he said. 

 "She sees it her mission to free slaves," Sansa added. She could only tell them what she knew, and nothing more. 

 "Oberyn has told me that you have warged before," Doran then said, changing the topic. "How many times have you seen the Targaryen princess?"

 "This would be the second time," Sansa answered. "I don't understand why, though..." Why the Targaryen princess? 

 "Time will reveal all secrets," Doran offered. "I will not lie to you sister. Your brother knows in this alliance, we will need the Targaryens. He has consented, and now you show that you have the ability to see what the dragons can see. You are not simply destined to be my sister-in-law." 

 She did not understand what Doran was telling her. She was Sansa, plain, stupid Sansa. She could not fight, nor could she outsmart anyone. What destiny did she have? 

 "What about the Lannisters?" Oberyn asked Doran. "The Mountain admitted that Tywin Lannister ordered the deaths of Elia and her children, and Cersei almost got Sansa killed. We have no reason to keep our appearances any more." 

 "You know what war brings," Doran said. "Only pain, suffering and orphans. I will not have war brought to Dorne." Even when Robert's Rebellion had not touched Dornish lands, Dornish souls had paid for their continued allegiance to the Targaryens. Tywin Lannister had every Dornishmen in King's Landing killed as the Mountain claimed the lives of Elia and the Mad King's grandchildren that she had brought into the world. 

 Oberyn nodded in understanding. The Mountain was dead and Sansa held no grudge against Cersei. There was no need for Dorne to be openly hostile against King's Landing yet. 

 "You can't attack the capital now," Sansa reasoned. "You'll lose the element of surprise when you do..." She stopped talking when she felt Doran's gaze upon her again. 

 "Oberyn had told me that you have keen senses, sister," Doran explained. "But he had not been able to describe how keen they actually were. You cannot fight, but you might have what it takes to lead an army or a nation if you so wished." 

 "I'm just a stupid little girl, brother," she replied, addressing Doran in the same way as he did her. "I can't do anything much to help anyone." 

 Her humility was a mask, Doran realized. A skill garnered through many years of surviving amongst her enemies. His sister-in-law was more of a prodigy than his own brother had anticipated. She would have been Queen of Westeros if she had the audacity and ambition to become one, and she had the bloodline and the marriage to garner it. Perhaps they were all lucky that she had no such wish, or rather, she has not yet been consumed by the poison of ambition. 

 "Then you shall receive the very best education to do so," Doran said. "You shall be a lady of a court, serving the court. Your place is not running a household, sister. It is running a nation. I will see to it that you are educated in the fine art of statecraft wholly, that is, if you are willing to do so." 

 Sansa looked at Oberyn, who nodded. They were in Dorne, and she could choose. Did she want to take a position that would one day could be of help to her family? Of course she did. She had been a prisoner, a hostage for too long. Now that she had already become the princess that she had dreamed of becoming, she would take on a different role, one that would free her from her old life. 

 "I am willing," she said. "I'll do everything I can to help you and Robb." 

 Doran smiled. "And so you shall, dear sister." 

* * *

 

Copious amounts of books were placed before Sansa the next morning after breakfast. Where Ellaria's younger daughters were faced with sums, bookkeeping and High Valyrian literature by the maester, Sansa was given economics, histories and various wartime records. 

 "Prince Doran has told me that you are to be trained to be a diplomat, Princess Sansa," the maester told her. "Sadly, we don't have much time for you to explore the fine details of each subject before us, and there is so much to cover..."

 "It's alright, Maester," Sansa said, and readily opened the book even as Elia, Obella, Dorea and Lorezza moaned and groaned. She had much too much to learn in too little time. There was a watchful peace now, and she had to learn as much as she could before the conflict would break out again. 

 Oberyn was looking at his wife from a window of the schoolroom. "You should have seen her, Doran," he said as he pushed Doran in his moving chair. "In King's Landing, she looked at everyone in King's Landing with eyes that screamed murder. Her face like ice on the Wall." 

 Doran chuckled. "Some people said that the best actors could perform every emotion with a blank mask," he replied. "But I think that the best actor is one that can turn his own face into a mask, like your wife." 

 "They tortured her, whipped her as if she was a dog," Oberyn recounted. "She has her talents because she needed to survive. She will outlast us all." Now that he thought of it, Sansa was the same age as Elia. Yet, because of the pain she had been through, she seemed to have lost all the freedoms of childhood. She was looked upon as an adult, and not a child. 

 "That is why we must mold her," Doran said. "We must shape her into an agent that we can use." 

 Oberyn sighed. Ever his brother would be the pragmatic one, the one that had everything perfectly calculated. He would use every single resource  he had to accomplish his goals, even if said resource was his new sister-in-law. "What if she doesn't want to be molded into what you want her to be?" he asked his brother. "Maybe she only does it because she has fallen hopelessly in love with me?"

 Doran chuckled. He was an excellent judge of character. He knew that Sansa was still a docile little kitten because she had not been pushed too far yet. She was lucky to have had Oberyn save her. "We shall see about that, Oberyn. When the Direwolf wishes to run with the wind, who are you to stop it?"

* * *

 "What!" Robb exclaimed. "Roose Bolton has escaped? When?"

 "Last evening, near sundown. He'd killed all his guards," Edmure Tully reported. "We know not where he's been." 

 "Did you send out riders to hunt him down, you fool?" the Blackfish scolded his nephew. Roose Bolton was supposed to be their prisoner, a live example to prevent any further betrayal from within his own ranks. 

 Edmure gulped. "I did, trust me, but we can't find him..." 

 "He may not have left Casterly Rock yet," Robb said. Casterly Rock was an impregnable fortress, and even in the fields, Roose Bolton could not have gotten far without alerting anyone. "Obara, Nym, I want a full sweep of the Rock, take whatever men you need," he told the Sand Snakes. 

 Just as the Sand Snakes were about to leave, they heard something break in the next room and then they heard Talisa scream. 

 Without wasting a second more, all of them rushed towards the next room where they found Catelyn unconscious while Talisa was struggling to wrestle the knife Bolton had in his hand away from her. 

 Nymeria swung her whip and cracked it. The end of the whip hit Bolton on the back and he cringed as a result, giving Talisa the chance to escape. Knowing that he had no choice, Bolton raised the sword that he had with him and charged towards Robb, who was luckily fast enough to parry with his own. 

 "You've made the wrong choice to keep me alive, boy," he said to Robb, struggling to break the stalemate between them. "You've made the wrong choice to have ended my line." 

 "You brought this upon yourself, Bolton," Robb replied with a growl. He no longer had any patience with his former bannerman. "If your bastard hadn't sacked Winterfell in your name, you would have still been my advisor, Lord of the Dreadfort." 

 Bolton spat. "Do you think it's all about power and position?" he asked coldly. "It is about bloodlines. When you unmanned Ramsay, my bloodline has died. What use would power be if I have no one to give it to?" Summoning all his strength, he pushed downwards, moving Robb's sword to his own shoulders, so that the cutting edge would cut him. 

 However, Robb was younger and faster. With a heavy grunt, he pushed Bolton back and kicked him square in the abdomen. "Ramsay is your bastard, you wouldn't have anyone to inherit anything from you even if he was still a whole man!" Robb bit back. 

 Ramsay's legitimization was one of the rewards promised by the Lannisters if they delivered Robb's head to them. It was not that he had loved his bastard son dearly. Like how Tywin Lannister did not have Tyrion Lannister killed when he was born, Bolton knew that Ramsay was his son. He had an older one, which died after a bout of sickness, which left Ramsay as his only son. He would have done anything to ensure that the Bolton line endured. Now, they were no more. Scattered to the wind. The Dreadfort was no longer his. He had nothing to lose and everything to gain if he could only kill Robb Stark then and there. 

 "That might have been, but before you decided to split the Seven Kingdoms with the Martells and not listen to me and head to the Twins, none of this would have happened," Bolton said, taking a few paces backwards. "Perhaps we should settle this once and for all. We all know that none of us will have peace if either of us survives." 

 Robb agreed with Bolton. The chamber they were in was only big enough for one single stroke with a sight running start. "Get the Queen and Mother out of here," he barked towards Obara, who immediately did as she was told. Edmure then picked Catelyn up and left the room with Obara as Nymeria watched their backs. 

 "Get ready to die, Your Grace," Bolton said. "I promise to give your body a proper burial, a courtesy that the Greyjoys certainly did not afford Ramsay." Oh, he had received word on how the Ironborn had treated Ramsay. His guards read the news to him themselves. They said that Balon Greyjoy had Ramsay torn into pieces by having what horses they had at Pyke tied to his neck, hands and feet. The horses where then made to run in five different directions, essentially pulling him apart in the most gruesome manner. Whatever remains that he had was promptly thrown into the sea to feed the fishes. 

 "I don't intend to," Robb returned. 

 Eyes locked onto one another, their attack started. Their swords clashed so hard that Robb had lost grip of his as a result of the reverberation between them. Looking at Bolton in disbelief, Robb knew that he would meet his end. "How easily you have lost," Bolton tutted, a manical glow starting to fill his usually empty eyes. He took the high guard, raising his sword above his head, ready for the kill. "Long live the King..."

 Robb closed his eyes. He had lost, fair and square. His only regret was that he could not see Talisa giving birth to their child, and to see Sansa's if she would have any. However, the deathblow did not come. Only a sound akin to choking, and when he opened his eyes again, he saw Bolton standing in the same position, his eyes filled with disbelief. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. 

 "The King'll live long, especially when I'm here," a familiar voice said, and the sound of a blade leaving flesh and bone could be heard. When Roose Bolton fell face down on the floor, Robb saw that it was Theon that had saved him. Theon had stuck a long dagger down the back of Bolton's neck, so long that there was an exit puncture just above his collarbone. "Don't blame anyone. Your wife set me free. She begged for me to help you." 

 "Theon..." Robb said in disbelief. "Why did you, though?" 

 "I've thought about it for a long time," Theon sighed, cleaning his blade with Roose's own clothes. "I know I've done you and your family wrong. I should have chosen to follow the teachings of the foster father that gave me some semblance of a family than my real father who gave me up so willingly. Since I'm alive, I might as well stay alive to make things right again... if... if you'll have me."  Robb broke into a smile. "If you would fight next to me again as a brother, I will have you," he said and embraced Theon. "You saved my life, I couldn't say no either." 

 "Then I'll fight for you, King Robb, from this day, until my last day."   
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought that it would be interesting to have a look at what Dany is up to. Perhaps one day Sansa would go see her?
> 
> I did not plan for Roose to escape, but I ran out of ideas, so yeah. 
> 
> Find the references for The Banquet (2005 movie by Feng Xiaogang) and Hakuouki (2010 anime) here. 
> 
> Enjoy!


	24. The Stretch

 "Perhaps, Princess Sansa, what you have experienced is not warging," the maester serving House Martell, a man named Caleotte, said. "There have been no records at all of anyone warging into dragons. It is not possible without a drop of Targaryen blood to have any bonds with a dragon, and we all know that you are no Targaryen." 

 Deciding to rebel, just for the sake of it, like her one attempt with her Septa just after they had reached King's Landing, and also after a shared mischievous look with Elia and her sisters. "Who's to say that I can't be one?" Sansa asked. 

 "Dear Princess, you are not the right age to be even suspected to be a Targaryen," Caleotte told her. "You are born three years after Robert's Rebellion, however... there is another Stark..." 

 Sansa noticed a hesitant pause. "Another Stark...?" she asked. 

 "There are other Starks, who are descendants of the First Men who possesses a  variant of the gifts they shared with the Children of the Forest, and it is called the Greensight," the maester quickly continued, completely concealing his blunder in the eyes of the other girls, but not Sansa. However, she had never heard of the Greensight before, and decided to let him go for now. "It is the ability to see past, present and even the future. Perhaps you are able to see things that happen simultaneously with... current events." 

 However Elia raised an eyebrow. "Maester, can Sansa not be both?" she asked. "A warg and a Greenseer?"

Caleotte sighed. Ah, the minds of children. "Perhaps one can, Elia. We never would have thought that dragons existed, and now there are three in the world. Perhaps their return brought magic back?" He then showed everyone in presence a certain link in his chain. "This link was made of Valyrian steel, and it is only granted to those who have masted the 'Higher Mysteries', your Maester Luwin, Princess, was a compatriot in my ventures when we studied together. So rest assured that I can be some help in your... abilities." 

 "I never doubted you, maester," Sansa said sweetly. Oh, she wouldn't doubt him at all, most of all, because she knew that he knew something. Maesters were a wealth of knowledge, but this particular maester had something of interest to her and he did not reveal it to her willingly. He must have almost said something that someone had told him not to. 

 The day's lesson went on, for Sansa and Elia, in how ladies destined to be diplomats should act and compose themselves. It was different than a Septa's lesson. Septa Mordane would tell Sansa that a lady should always be graceful and courteous, so that she would be regarded as being refined and sophisticated; superficial things. Caleotte's lessons, on the other hand, ran a little deeper. 

 He told them that most men were pigs who only had bedsport in their minds and were easily entranced by beautiful women. With enough alcohol, any woman would seem exceedingly beautiful to them. That was why for women who served higher causes should always make sure that their gowns were cut just right. They had to show just enough to tease and withhold enough to keep them from wanting more. Margery Tyrell immediately came to mind for Sansa as they went about their lesson. 

 Ever since she had married Oberyn, Sansa was told that she could choose. Choose who she wanted to be, what she could do with herself, and with Oberyn and Ellaria, who she wanted to take to her bed, even. Here, in the schoolroom, faced with so much information, Sansa realized more than anything was that she was not going to be the courtly flower that her mother had raised her to be. If she was going to be one, she would be one who spoke and made decisions, but she would not be foolish like Cersei or one that was too aggressive like Margery, to the point that she even alarmed Cersei. 

 The first thing that she must do, she decided, was to uncover the secret that the maester had tried to cover. Another Stark who could have Targaryen blood? Who was that Stark and why would a maester in Dorne know of it?

* * *

 "Khaleesi?" Jorah asked Daenerys after the peasants of Yunkai had brought her back to the ground. She had looked ecstatic that the Yunkai freedmen had taken to her so happily, but now, she behaved differently. 

 "We're being watched," Daenerys said. There was a quiet hint of unease in her mind, she could not know what it was. "I... felt the same way in Astapor as well." 

 Barristan Selmy raised an eyebrow. "Watched, Your Grace?" he asked. "You have no spies around you, I can be sure of that." 

 "No, not by a spy," Daenerys said. "It sounds strange, but it is as if some... eye in the skies. I feel someone's gaze on me but I can't tell who it is." 

 "The Masters are slave owners, Your Grace, not magicians," Selmy added. "Even if there were magicians, your dragons would teach them a thing or two." 

 Knowing that her two advisors did not believe her at all, she knew better than to press the matter further. She wondered who could be watching her, and why. It seemed that only Rhaegal seemed to understand her. 

 "What is it?" she asked. Rhaegal hovered some distance away from her and coughed up a ball of flames. From the green veins of his flames, she could see a face. It was a girl, a little younger than she was. Did Rhaegal see this girl before?

 "You must've fed your dragon too much," another voice interrupted her thoughts. It was Daario Naharis, the new Captain of the Second Sons, who had helped her take Yunkai, wearing that dashingly handsome smile as he spoke. . "He's burping all over the place." 

 Daenerys rolled her eyes. "Maybe you should mind your business," she shot back and left his company. 

* * *

  "You are hiding something from me," Sansa told Oberyn that very night, just before they fell asleep after a bout of lovemaking. Ellaria had retired to the chambers her daughters were housed in, and Sansa had missed her weight on the bed. It was a statement. There was no anger, no hurt, only a statement that she was aware of a secret that he was keeping from her. 

 "Hmm?" Oberyn asked innocently, drawing Sansa into a kiss. "And what would that be?"

 She let him play around with her. After all, it was what Maester Caleotte had taught her. She would put his lesson to practice. "The maester told me that it was impossible to warg into a dragon without any Targaryen blood." 

 Oberyn chuckled. "Of course you aren't a Targaryen, my wife," he told her, tipping her chin. "You are Stark and Tully through and through, kissed by fire." He threaded his fingers through her long hair  and pressed a kiss on her jawline. 

 "He told me that there was another Stark who had," Sansa slipped, looking intently into his dark eyes. "Oberyn, the Targaryens killed my grandfather and uncle, how could there be a Stark with Targaryen blood?"

 Oberyn groaned. "I will skin that old fool alive," he hissed. It was too late now. His wife had already caught on and he knew that he could ever hide anything from her. They had passed through the Tower of Joy when making their journey to Sunspear and then to the Water Gardens. She knew that her aunt Lyanna had died there after being kept there for one year by Rhaegar Targaryen. However, she knew nothing else that the history books did not say or what her father had not revealed. 

 Sansa knew that Dorne was hiding something. "You can't tell me?" she concluded. 

 "Not many that know it still live, my love," Oberyn replied. "Your father was one of them." 

 Sansa's eyes widened. "My father?" she asked. "What did he know?"

 "I will tell you tomorrow, in Doran's presence," he said. "It is a fact that I cannot present by myself." 

 "Why?" 

 "Hush, my love," Oberyn silenced her, tapping his finger to her lips. There was nothing more to speak of the matter. He would let it rest until Doran would open it tomorrow. "Now tell me, how do you find your stepdaughters?"

 Luckily for him, his wife decided to humor him. "They are lovely," she answered. "I was afraid that they would not like me, but... I feel as if I have a gaggle of sisters more than I have stepdaughters now." Strictly speaking, she was much younger than the older Sand Snakes and was a few months younger than Elia, who was born in the same year as she was. If there was any mother-figure in their lives, it would be Ellaria, not her. She was only their father's wife. 

 However, Oberyn had laughed at her description of his daughters. "A gaggle of sisters," he repeated. "Every one of them, even Loreza, can easily murder a man in his sleep if they so wished." They were given a precarious life, his daughters. They were highborn bastards, born to not only luxury but freedom from too much responsibility. Their education was different from how Sansa had been educated. All of them were trained to bear weapons and Sansa knew that Loreza liked to play with morning stars for the matter. "You say the most peculiar things, my love. They are endearing, truly." 

 "Your daughters won't murder me in my sleep," she reassured him. "We're not going to be fast friends, but I hope that one day, they'll trust me enough to be one." Determination. It was a strong trait in all of the Starks that some would mistake as stubbornness. Catelyn Stark had been a determined woman, yet she was too defensive. Sansa's readiness in accepting Ellaria might have been weakness in her mother's eyes, that she was a victim of circumstance, the result of a political marriage, but Sansa saw an opening. She could be like her mother, but Sansa knew that it closed more doors for her if she had chosen to do so. He could see that deliberation when they had been still betrothed. He had introduced her to Ellaria and she was immediately drawn to her. It would be the same thing with his daughters, if Obara and Nymeria were any good indicators. 

 "They will love you," he promised her. "In time, they will." 

 "I hope I survive that long," she sighed. "You never know..." 

 Once again, he had interrupted her with a kiss. It had become a habit that she had hated and loved. She hated it because it deprived her for a chance to speak her mind, but loved it because she knew it came from how much he had come to understand her. "You have survived horrors that most cannnot, my love," he told her in all seriousness, tipping her chin towards him so that she would not look away. "You will survive everything you face, I promise you." 

 Sansa could do nothing else but nod, and press her lips to his forehead in affirmation. She loved her husband, but she had hoped that once she outgrew her dependence on him, for safety and warmth, she would be able to stand on her own two feet instead of using him and Ellaria as her crutches. She had needed him in King's Landing. She needed his infamy as a half-mad warrior on the loose to free her, she needed his family name to avoid marriage to anyone the Lannisters wanted her to marry, she had needed Ellaria's softness to comfort her. Could she live another day without them by her side? Could she have done it? She did not know. Would it be monstrous of her to dream of such a day, when they had given her so much?

 "What are you thinking about?" Oberyn asked her. He had known from the beginning that Sansa was not one for much words. She was an observer if anything. 

 "What if one day, I will leave Dorne?" she asked. "What if I told you I want to cross the Narrow Sea and venture through Essos... on my own?"

 "My heart will be with you when you go," Oberyn told her simply. "If you decide to venture north of the Wall, or if you decided you will be a Khaleesi by conquering other Khals in the Dothraki Sea, I will wait for you to come back, even for a day. You are so young, my love. The world is yours to see and experience. Say it, and a ship will be prepared for you." Sansa had been from the North and she had come to Dorne in her marriage to him. She had already seen most of Westeros. He doubted that her heart would be rooted in their continent. "Or... if you would one day find yourself in the bed of a certain Silver Queen..."

 "What makes you think that  _that_  would be possible?" Sansa asked him. Trust Oberyn to come up with the most incredulous of ideas. Her husband had shrugged, but the very fact that he brought the possibility of it... 

 "Now come, it is time for sleep," he told her, tucking her under his chin. "It is so late in the night that it might be early in the morning." As soon as he had stopped talking, she could hear faint snores from him. She too, surrendered herself to sleep. The Gods knew that she would need it. 

* * *

 "She is a strange little thing," Tyene said to Ellaria when she was asked about what she thought of her father's wife. "I've never seen anyone that could look so afraid but so brave at the same time."

 Sarella nodded. "She looks like a huge doll," she said. Sansa was in no way a slight woman. She was as tall as Oberyn and even taller than some of the knights in service of their family. "Does Papa really love her?"

 "He and I both, love," Ellaria said. At first, Sansa had been a girl to be saved for them. If marriage was the only way, then let it be marriage. When they got to know her, they marveled at her strength. She carried steel and ice in her blood, nothing else. But it was Oberyn that put her high on a pedestal. She was young and beautiful, the sadness of her experiences made her even more irresistible. A sad maiden was dearly needed by a valiant prince. Sansa was more than that, Ellaria mused. Sansa was not like her mother, hungry for the blood who have wronged her or will wrong her, nor was she flailing about, trying to throw her weight like Cersei. Sansa would one day find herself and when she did, she would shock the world. She and Oberyn were only there to bring Sansa to that next stage in her life. 

 "Mama, what if Sansa has any children with Papa?" Tyene asked. "What will happen to us?" Bastards were loved as any child in Dorne. But Sansa was not Dornish. She was a Northerner. Northerners were stern and stuck to their rules. 

 "Your father will never turn all of you away, if that's what you're worried about," Ellaria told Tyene, holding the hands of the two girls around her. "If anything, Sansa will learn to love you and you must do the same with her." 

 "Maybe she just wants to love us because it's her duty to do so," Sarella posited. "She knows that Papa loves us and she can't touch us." 

 Ellaria smiled. "That too," she said. Sansa was not foolish enough to ever dare to remove Oberyn's daughters. Ellaria was sure that the thought had never thought about it to begin with. "Do you know that Obara and Nymeria have been made Captain and Lieutenant of the Northern army?"

 Both girls nodded. "They told us in their letters," Sarella said. "Tyene pouted all day because she couldn't go with them to start." Before Oberyn, Ellaria, Obara and Nymeria had left Dorne to seek Robb Stark, Oberyn had gathered all his daughters. He had told them that Tyene was battle-ready but he wanted her to take care of the younger ones and Sarella was to help her. Obara and Nymeria were older and far more experienced, so they would personally lead the Dornish spearmen that had hid in the Westerlands and Riverlands as merchants. Thus Tyene and Sarella remained in Dorne, and there they were. 

 "What about that strange lady Sansa brought with her?" Tyene asked. "Who is she, Mama?"

 "She is Brienne of Tarth and is Sansa's sworn sword," Ellaria answered. "Your father thinks that she is a very interesting woman." 

 "She looks just like a man," Sarella commented. "Does she fight like one?"

 "Like a man and more," Ellaria replied. "She won Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers in a duel and was named into Renly Baratheon's Kingsguard before he died." 

 Sarella did not understand. "What's so special about that?" she asked. "We've beaten Ser Deamon many times and we're not knights." 

 "Things are different outside of Dorne," Ellaria explained. "The men fight and the women bear children, not arms." Outside of Dorne, her relationship with Oberyn would have been frowned upon. The Sand Snakes would be nothing but outcasts, no matter their military prowess. Sometimes, she felt herself lucky that Winterfell was now in ruins for if it was still strong and in control of the Starks, Oberyn would have had to leave them for his duty to Dorne. She might be able to live past it, but his daughters would not have. She was lucky that Robb Stark had no other choice but to say yes to Dorne's conditions. She was a woman too, a mother and she had to think for her children. "We are lucky to be children of Dorne, for we have far more freedoms than women outside our lands. They even have to wear corsets to keep their waists eternally slim." 

 Tyene balked. She had to impersonate someone from the Storm's End before and she had to wear a corset. It was the most constricting thing to wear ever and she felt as if she could not breathe. "I'd rather skip that lemon cake for dessert than having to wear such a monstrosity." 

 "Sansa loves lemon cakes," Ellaria noted. "She eats them one after the other and she still has a lovely figure." 

 Tyene groaned. She, on the other hand, had to train for hours and hours with her daggers and various other weapons with anyone who would entertain her just to afford herself that  _one_  lemon cake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is named so not only because Sansa wants to stretch her wings, but because I'm stretched for ideas on what to write. I've also decided to make Sansa something between a warg and a Greenseer, although she can't control it particularly well, because just warging into dragons is a tad impossible. 
> 
> HOORAY for Dany's debut on the fic! And that innuendo by Oberyn hmm.... 
> 
> About the maester bit, I thought that SOMEONE had to teach them Sand Snakes how to be sexy for... reasons. They're naturally sexy, all of them, but you know how to apply said sexiness is another thing. 
> 
> P.S: I really need you guys to help me keep Sansa in check. If she gets too OOC please give me some warning.


	25. Origins

 When Maester Caleotte had gone to Doran to tell him of his misstep in front of Sansa, Doran could only sigh and put his face in his hands. "It is a sign from the Gods," he said. "First Lyanna Stark and now Sansa..." A lifetime ago, the Starks and the Martells had as little common ground between them as was conceivable, the two families ruling the different extremities of the Seven Kingdoms. It was only when Rhaegar Targaryen had the audacity to bring Lyanna Stark to the Tower of Joy when the first contact between Dorne and the North had been made in the previous generation. 

 Doran had remembered that day like it was yesterday. Oberyn had punched Rhaegar hard in anger that he had brought the woman he had shamed their sister with at the tourney at Harrenhall with, but he had not laid a hand on Lyanna. One look at Lyanna's eyes and everything was made clear. They were in love. How could they, the Dornish, who took so much pride in free love, have rejected them?

 "She deserves to know the truth," Doran told Oberyn, who said nothing of the matter. "Everything her family has suffered, every lash on her back, has been resulted from Ned Stark's insistence that none of this can be revealed. She is both a Stark and a Martell now, even. You cannot deny this from her." 

 Oberyn sighed. "I don't know what my wife would do when she knows what had transpired," he told his brother.  Sansa was... evolving. When he had first met her, she was the Queen's little dove, trapped in a gilded cage with spikes ever turning towards her. She had fought in her own way to survive and survive she did. When she became his wife, she steadily gained her footing. She began to dare to stare Cersei down even in public and he knew that the Queen was more than bristled. Cersei had started to feel a twinge of fear in her, which was probably why she had decided that he should not survive Tyrion Lannister's trial by combat. If Sansa had been widowed, then she would have to be returned to their care until they found her a suitable husband. He could not deny that she had shielded him with her body because she too had fallen for him, but deep down inside, he knew that it was her survival instinct that drove her as well. 

 "Wolves often act drastically when they are trapped. Your wife will have a choice to make," Doran told his brother. "Bring her to my study, Oberyn. I will tell Sansa everything she needs to know." It was a command, and Oberyn knew it well. Doran had decided. Oberyn could only obey. 

 He had Areo Hotah push him into his study. It was a fairly simple room, compared to the rest of the rooms in the Water Gardens. "Your brother has been completely taken by his wife," Hotah said. Oberyn had been like that in his early days with Ellaria, and now, there was a repeat of the same with Sansa. 

 "Oberyn might be a lusty man, but his heart is rarely opened," Doran said. "Where Ellaria would be a balm to him, Sansa would be an even greater challenge to him. She will be his equal one day, his wife in every sense of the word." His sister-in-law was only beginning to exercise what skills Oberyn's presence in her life had given her. When she has had the true taste of what Dorne could do to shape a woman, he was sure that his brother would be willing to lick the floor clean for her to stand on. 

 Sansa and Oberyn had arrived in Doran's study not too long after he had arrived with Hotah. Her lips were slightly swollen, no doubt the doing of theither Oberyn or Ellaria. "Brother," she greeted with a warm smile and moved forwards to kiss his cheek as he did hers. 

 "Sister," he returned. "I believe that you have chanced upon some... information between your family and the Targaryens in your lessons with Maester Caleotte yesterday?" he asked her. Unlike Oberyn, his eyes were of a greenish hazel hue. It had come from their father, who had some Andal blood in him. Sansa had found them to be quite enchanting. While Oberyn's was dark and mysterious, passionate in both fury and seduction, Doran's had been cool and calm. Within their depths were a great amount of pain, sealed, but not forgotten. If Oberyn was murderous when pushed to, she deigned to see what Doran was capable of in that same state. 

 "Yes," Sansa replied. "Maester Caleotte said that there was a Stark with Targaryen blood..." 

 From one of the drawers of his desk, Doran retrieved a piece of parchment kept between two pieces of glass and brought it to his sister-in-law. "Read this, and all would be clear," he told her. Both Martell brothers watched her as she read the contents of the parchment. At first, she had gasped, and then, she fell silent. When she returned the parchment to Doran there were tears in her eyes and he knew that it took every fiber of Oberyn's being not to go to her side to kiss them away. His brother was the best person to comfort a woman, after all. 

 "My Aunt Lyanna was... legally married to Rhaegar Targaryen?" she asked in disbelief. "And their child is Jon?"

 Doran nodded. "The Targaryens often had more than one wife," he said. "Like us, they believed in the Faith of the Seven, but like us, they took what they liked from religion and follow what they wanted from their own Valyrian customs. Polygamy was one of them. Elia was a sickly woman from the day she was born. She was bedridden for half a year following the birth of Rhaenys and had almost died birthing Aegon." He remembered the panic that swept through Dorne when they had heard the news. Thankfully, the Gods were kind and decided to allow Elia to live for a time. "The maesters said that Elia cannot conceive again lest she loses her life." 

 "When Rhaegar Targaryen knew of it, he took the opportunity to woo his next possible target, Lyanna Stark," Oberyn continued. "I was at the Tourney of Harrenhal, when Rhaegar crowned your aunt as the Lady of Love and Beauty with a garland of blue winter roses. The crowds went silent and there was no joy. I wanted to knock sense into our beautiful prince but Elia stopped me. She told me that she had permitted it. Rhaegar was convinced that he needed another child and she could not give him one. When he brought Lyanna to Dorne, they had first come to Sunspear where we met him. I'd punched him for our sister, too." 

 "What did my aunt say?" Sansa asked the two brothers. 

 "She said that she would stay in Dorne, as a measure of good faith," Doran answered. "She did not seek to supplant Elia, but she had loved Rhaegar. If a child was what he wanted then she would provide it, and if a prince needed a child, that marriage had to be legal. We thanked the Gods that he was a Targaryen and he could take many wives." 

 The rest of the story was well-known. Rhaegar Targaryen was not present during most of Robert's Rebellion although he had been said to be it's perpetrator. When war swept across the Seven Kingdoms, Rhaegar had kept Lyanna in the Tower of Joy for a year, and only appeared in the battlefield at the Battle of the Trident, where Robert Baratheon claimed his life. After the war had ended, her father went to the Tower of Joy only to find it guarded by three of the Kingsguard, all of them Rhaegar's greatest friends. Her father had narrowly won the fight against the Kingsguard, who were the greatest warriors of Westeros at the time, and found her aunt dying

 "She made Father promise her something," Sansa recalled from what little she knew about her aunt. "He had always refused to tell anyone what it was, and you're telling me that my half-brother Jon Snow, is actually my cousin, Jon Targaryen?" If Jon really was a Targaryen, then it would mean that he should be king and not the Baratheons. If the world had seen what she had seen, all the bloodshed in the world, the previous one and the current one, would be for naught. 

 "Lord Eddard Stark was made to keep this secret by his sister," Doran told her. "She feared that Robert Baratheon would one day try to kill her son and asked him to raise him as his bastard." 

 However, Sansa heaved a quiet sigh. "It doesn't matter anymore," she said. "Jon's taken the black, he can't inherit anything when he's joined the Night's Watch." She had read her histories. Many years ago, a Targaryen prince had no love for the Iron Throne and studied to be a maester in the Citadel. When his brother ascended the throne, he took the vows of the Night's Watch to ensure that there was no suspicion that he had any eyes on it at all. 

 "At times, I thank the Gods for his decision," Doran said. "Having another Targaryen player makes things... complicated." The Targaryens placed male succession above all females. If Jon Snow really was Jon Targaryen, his claim to the throne was stronger than that of Daenerys'. However, he did not have dragons and she had three. 

 "Jon  _won't_  stake any claim," Sansa told them. "He's too much like Father and Robb. They value honor above everything. Even if you told him that he would be made a Stark and he could rule Winterfell, he wouldn't do it." Jon was raised under the shadow of her father. He might have been a bastard but he was of the North, through and through. However, there was something that she did not understand. "But... why would Rhaegar need another child?"

 Oberyn answered that question. "Elia said that he was obsessed over a prophecy, that the he was the Prince that was Promised, and that the Dragon must have three heads. He thought that Rhaenys and Aegon were the first two and needed another," he said, with some amount of bile. At the end of the day, it was evident that he was not happy with the way Rhaegar had somewhat treated his sister like a broodmare. "She had loved Rhaegar so much that she would allow him to take another wife." 

 "So, he took Lyanna as his second wife, and here you kept the marriage contract, because Elia had permitted it," Sansa concluded. She sat down on the chair nearest to Oberyn and felt his hands on her shoulders. Jon, poor, confused Jon was the center of all this conflict and thanks to their father, he was innocent of everything. To him, he was still the bastard of Winterfell, who had joined the Watch to find his own place in the world. "Jon... knows nothing..." 

 "And he will continue to know nothing unless all is revealed to him," Doran said. "Many had died to protect this secret, and Lord Eddard brought it to his grave, you must do the same." If the Lannisters knew that there was a Targaryen on the Wall, their agents would find and kill him before he knew that he was one. If Daenerys knew that she had a nephew, her claim on the Iron Throne would be weakened. If the North knew, they would have promptly marched to the Wall and retrieve Jon as the claimant that they would back. There was no doubt that they would rather see Lyanna's child on the throne than any other. 

 Sansa nodded. "I will bring it to mine as well," she promised them. "You have my word, I won't tell it to anyone." Oberyn's hands on her shoulders soon became his arms around her waist, chin resting on the arch of her neck. "Not even Jon." 

 "I thank you, dear sister," Doran said. "Now you understand that it is you that Oberyn must marry. There has been much strife and sadness between our families. I had wanted to mend it, to forge a new bond between the North and Dorne. Had it not been announced that you were to marry Joffrey, we would have made the suit as quickly as possible. Your coming to us has been more than clever politics." 

 It was the Gods, Sansa thought to herself. Be it the Old Gods, or the New, they were cruel beings who liked to see the world suffer. All of them were naught but playthings to them. But in a way, she had been happy, if not overjoyed, that she was sent into Oberyn's arms. "Thank you," she murmured, breaking into unexplained tears. 

 No one hushed her, for not all tears were evil. They knew that those tears were the tears of a burden long shared by her father and themselves, they were the tears for her love for her family. "I will be taking her back now," Oberyn announced, and picked her up as he had done on their wedding day. "See you soon, brother." 

 Doran nodded and watched Oberyn leave with Sansa in his arms. It was then when Hotah spoke again. "Your brother is doomed." 

* * *

 Sometimes, Oberyn thinks himself to be no better than Walder Frey. He had a wife far younger than himself and for whatever reason, he could not have fathomed how he had lived when she had not been there. He was a greedy man, and Ellaria and his daughters were not enough. Sansa, sweet, intelligent (and somewhat cunning) Sansa, was his bane. She was turbulent, a wolf that would soon roam through the wilds.

 "You can put me down now," Sansa whimpered, although she still clutched at his tunic as she leaned her head against his chest. He gave her a silent nod and helped her to her feet. They walked in silence, arm in arm until they had reached their private chambers. Instinctively, he walked towards the decanter of wine that was always on the table next to the window and poured two glasses. One for him and the other for her. 

 "You will need this," he told her when he passed her one of the glasses. 

 Sansa took the glass and took a hearty gulp. "We're in the eye of the storm," she said, breaking their silence. She had never felt so... heavy, burdened by not only the truth but also by the weight of her name. She was a Stark. She felt that she and Robb had the responsibility to make things right again, but, she knew not how. She was not a warrior, nor was she a strategist. In any case, she was inexperienced and untested. "I don't know what to do." 

 "What does your heart tell you?" Oberyn asked her, letting her lean her head on his shoulder. "You don't have to do anything now, my love. You have endured enough, you have earned your rest." 

 His words had been comforting, but she knew that she had wanted something  _more_. "And I should just wait until I feel that it is right for me to move?" she asked him in return. Robb was fighting a war, Daenerys was freeing slaves and the Lannisters were simmering in their plots in King's Landing. Could she bask in Dorne while the world around them stirred? 

 "Learn as much as you can," Oberyn told her. "Learn what you wish to learn. Here, you are free to do as what you want. I will be behind you, my darling Sansa, every step of the way if I can." Ellaria had told him that morning that they were only conduits in Sansa's path. He had been saddened by that fact, but it was true. She was determined now to blaze her own path, and he knew that nothing could stop her. 

 "You've given me so much, Oberyn," she told him. "You and Ellaria... you gave me courage that I could never have before I met you." Her father had always preached that the only time a man could feel brave was when he was afraid. She had always been afraid. It was the same fear that brought her to seek whatever form of survival she could have. She had bowed and scraped, said words that caused her bile to rise, just to survive. She had enough of that life. 

 Since Oberyn and Ellaria had come into her life, she had discovered that being brave meant being able to choose, and to live with the consequences. Rhaegar Targaryen had chosen to love her aunt and he had torn the Seven Kingdoms asunder. When Robert Baratheon killed him, Lyanna had still been in his thoughts. She knew that she had to choose, but she did not know what that choice was. 

 "You are worth all that we have given you, love," Oberyn told her, bringing her knuckles to his lips. "As Doran had said, we were meant for each other, if not to quell the blood-strife between our families." He was wrong. He was not like Walder Frey. Walder Frey would have wanted a young, beautiful wife just for the sole reason of it. He had a young, beautiful wife because he knew his duty, not only to his family but to all the poor souls that had died because of a love that he and his brother were forced to help nurture, purely to honor his sister's wishes. If that was what his union to Sansa was, he would stand by it and stand by her  no matter the cost. 

 "I don't want to care about everything else, just for now," Sansa said, now throwing her arms around him. "Couldn't we, just for a moment, forget about all the war and politics. Couldn't we be just who we are, because we love each other?"

 Oberyn smiled, and tipped her chin for a kiss. It was warm, but light. Upon it's ending, he let her head rest onhis shoulder again, a position that he knew that she had favored. He liked to hold her thus as well. He liked the feel of her long, red hair spilled all over his side. It had looked as if rivers of blood had formed between them. 

 "We have all afternoon to do that, my love," he said, but Sansa had already fallen asleep, coaxed into her dreams by only his warmth at her side. 

 His sweet, sweet wife. She did not know how arduous her path would be.                               

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the end of the day, Rhaegar was the one who started the war, and he was the one who ended it with his death. Poor, poor Jon. 
> 
> Let Sansa wait around in Dorne, for awhile. Let her cool her head and decide what her part in the grand scheme of things is. 
> 
> Oberyn is doomed. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> P.S: Yes, I couldn't resist ever-famous "You know nothing, Jon Snow" phrase. I just tweaked it a little.


	26. The Unexpected

 "Move your feet, don't just stand there!" Oberyn howled at Tyene as she was sparring with Brienne. Tyene had made the mistake of watching Brienne for too long and had barely been able to parry one of Brienne's attacks. She had been used to sparring with Areo Hotah before, but not someone who was, in Dornish term, "a clunky knight". Although Brienne was no longer wearing heavy plate armor, she still moving as though she had been. Tyene's younger sisters were cheering her on, while Sansa and Ellaria watched intently with Doran in the shade. 

 "Your sworn-sword, sister, was she not in suspicion for killing Renly Baratheon?" Doran asked Sansa. 

 "She said that it was Stannis and his Shadowbinder from Asshai who killed Renly," Sansa answered. "Brienne said that it was a shadow with Stannis' face that did the deed." 

 Doran raised an eyebrow. "Do you believe that story?" 

 "My mother seems to believe her, and she was there in the Renly Baratheon's camp when he died," Sansa mused. "Brienne... doesn't feel like a murderer to me. She doesn't have the intent nor can she gain anything from killing her own king. However, I wouldn't be an excellent judge of character at all." In fact, she was a terrible judge of character. Every single one that she had chosen to trust had been disastrous for her. She had almost put her hands in the fate of Petyr Baelish, but had given up on the chance to leave King's Landing with him for the possibility that she would be married to Loras Tyrell. Every night she thanked the Gods that she was given Oberyn and Ellaria instead. 

 Doran only chuckled at her words. "You still have much to learn, Sansa," he said, "as Tyene does. We would be having to fight knights in plated armor now, and we thank the Gods that Brienne of Tarth is one." 

 "Brienne is not yet a knight," Sansa said. "She has the spirit of one, but, she just... wasn't knighted I suppose." 

 "Then that must be remedied," Doran said. "It is true that there are few female knights even in Dorne, but it can't harm anyone, can it?"

 The spar had ended with Tyene's dagger at Brienne's neck and Brienne's broadsword at hers. The younger Sand Snakes cheered while Oberyn had looked quite impressed with the two of them. "You," he said to Tyene, "Need to pay attention to what your opponent is doing." Tyene nodded, and he ruffled his daughter's short hair. Then he turned to Brienne, "and you need to learn not to underestimate your opponents. Tyene does not have much experience in the open field, but it does not mean that she is not capable." 

 "Lesson well taught, my prince," Brienne replied, and shook hands with Tyene. "You fight very well, Tyene." 

 "And you as well, Brienne," Tyene returned. "It is a shame that few women out of Dorne have the chance to fight like you." She had rather liked Brienne. She tolerated no nonsense and like her, was eager to prove herself. Tyene herself had illustrious older sisters that she knew that she was only a shadow of. Obara was already commanding small parts of the Dornish army, trusted by both her father and uncle and Nymeria was elegant and beautiful, exceptionally skilled with her whip when she had just begun to train with her double daggers and poisons. She understood the need to be recognized by others, however small the measure. 

 When they returned to the shade, Tyene was surrounded by her sisters and Brienne dutifully took her place by Sansa's side. Then, she realized Doran's eyes on her. "Come forward, Lady Brienne," Doran said to her, beckoning her to approach while Sansa nodded, signaling that she do as Doran wished. "Lady Brienne, I understand that you are Sansa's sworn sword, but I do hope that you realize that only knights can be sworn swords." 

 "My Prince, I swore an oath..." Brienne tried to explain, but Doran held up his hand. 

 "As such, you  _will_   be a knight in the service of Princess Sansa of Dorne," Doran continued as Oberyn handed him a ceremonial sword. Brienne was shocked to no end, and even as he unsheathed the jewel-encrusted sword, she stood, almost as though she was as dumb as a post. Loreza crept up to her and poked her in the knee. Only then did she come to her senses and knelt on one knee. Doran touched each of her shoulder with the sword, saying the customary words that were to be said when knighting a person. "Rise a knight, Lady Brienne." 

 "Thank you, my Prince," Brienne managed to stammer. "I don't know what I can do to repay you... all of you." 

 "Only your fealty to your charge," Doran said with a curt nod. "Sansa might be new to you, but she has a good heart, and I would like to see it beating for a long time coming, am I understood?" 

 "Yes, my Prince," Brienne answered, this time with a small smile. "I will guard Princess Sansa with my life." She knew the responsibility that had entailed. Sansa was not only a Dornish princess by marriage, she was also Princess of the North. If Robb Stark had no male heirs, she would be heir to the North and the Riverlands as well. She did not understand much about politics, but she could at least understood that half of Westerosi politics lied on the survival of the alliance that had been forged between Dorne and the North. 

 Her knighting ceremony had been simple enough, but Brienne was sure to remember it always. There in Dorne, she did not stick out like a sore thumb. It was something that she had sorely loathed, but there in Dorne, no one really cared that she was a woman in armor, or that she didn't know how to curtsy very well. Now, she was full knight, her existence finally validated. The simplicity of her coming to knighthood only reminded her that she was only in a new beginning, that the true struggle was still to come. 

* * *

 "Your Grace, the Hound, Sandor Clegane says he wants an audience with you," one of the guards told Robb. He had been a man paid by Lannister coin, that boy, and now he was a soldier of the North. Robb put down his quill and thanked the guard silently for the distraction. "I'll come with you now." 

 Running Casterly Rock was exactly as running Winterfell would be. Supplicants day in day out, asking for this and that. He was sure now that he was far more familiar with the affairs of Casterly Rock than he had been with winterfell now, seeing that he was acting lord of Winterfell for only a few short months. He was lucky that Talisa had turned out to be an excellent Queen. She had a head with administration like how he had the head for strategy and battle, and yet, her way of running things was not like that of his mother's at all. While Catelyn would make sure that everything was in order, Talisa had run by numbers, and those numbers were backed by accounts. She knew precisely how much Casterly Rock had in its coffers and she guarded those secrets with her life. Back in Winterfell, Catelyn never  _dared_  to ask such questions of her husband. Talisa did not even ask, she had found them out by herself and acted accordingly. 

 Casterly Rock was soon becoming a familiar place to him. He had once cursed when he would open the wrong door (almost walking in on Nymeria pleasuring an equally lovely girl while one of his men pleasured her, no less) and get lost in hallways that he now traversed easily. He was wondering if he was doing the right thing. Invading on the homes of others and making them his. Casterly Rock was almost as old as Winterfell, but the Lannisters were not always theirs to call home. It had been tricked out of its original owners by Lann the Clever using "only his wits", whatever it meant. He had gained Casterly Rock through conquest, but he had no desire to show any more cruelty to its denizens. They were all lucky that his strategy to appeal to the smallfolk instead of its lords and the rest of the lords of the Westerlands had worked out, or their heads would be resting on spikes. 

 He had met his mother on the way to the great hall. "What have you heard, Mother?" he asked Catelyn. 

 "That the Hound is here and he asks to see you," Catelyn replied. "And that he has a boy with him, described to be around Arya's age." 

 "If it is Arya..." Robb pondered. 

 "He would want a handsome ransom for her," Robb concluded. Thankfully for him, Talisa was already in her queenly seat, a smaller, elegant chair, next to his. He had given his wife a quick kiss before he turned to face Sandor Clegane and the dirty, ragged child next to him. The one with Father's eyes. Wait... Father's eyes?

 "Robb!" came Arya's voice. "Mother!" 

 Catelyn was the one who reached Arya first. "Oh my girl, my sweet, sweet Arya," Catelyn cried. Finally, her two daughters had come home. 

 "You have your sister," the Hound said. "I want my gold." 

 Robb nodded. "And you will have it, returning Princess Arya of the North to us warrants a great reward," he said sternly. 

 "Princess, I'm not a Princess!" Arya exclaimed, but Catelyn covered her mouth with her hand. 

 The Hound harrumphed. "Princess or not, I saved two of your sisters. Sansa, before those men were about to rape her during the riots before the Battle of Blackwater Bay and Arya from the woman they call the Red Priestess. I want a higher price." 

 "Name it, and you shall have it," Talisa said, her voice mimicking the steel that Robb had. For whatever reason, the Hound even gave her a small bow at her words. 

 "I'll want my father's lands back to my name," the Hound said. He was of the Westerlands, after all. "I want three chests of silver, full to the brim and twenty pretty women to fuck until I can't fuck any longer." 

 Robb looked him in the eye and said, "Done." 

 Even the Hound raised an eyebrow. "Done? What do you mean done?"

 "I told you didn't I? I'd give you everything you wanted, although you might have to wait on the women. We'd need to find them first," Robb replied. "Is there anything else, Sandor Clegane?"

 The Hound was floored. He had not expected Robb to agree with his terms so easily. Ten minutes later, three chests of silver were set before him. They were not large to start with, but their contents were enough to last him a lifetime if he was clever. 

 "Don't spend it all in one place," Robb told the Hound. "Go back to your father's halls then. You deserve your rest." 

 Sandor Clegane bowed and left. Then, Robb turned towards Arya. They shared a long, warm hug, but when it ended, Robb grabbed Arya by her shoulders. "Where did you run off to?" he demanded. "Why didn't you stay with Sansa? " 

 "A wandering Crow found me," Arya explained. "He said that he'd bring me back to Winterfell along the way to the Wall. But..." 

 "I'm so glad that you're back!" Robb said. "Now we have you and Sansa safe, we only have Bran and Rickon to worry about..." 

 "But... Sansa's not here, is she?" Arya asked. She could only see Catelyn, Robb, and a pretty woman who must have been Robb's Queen, judging by the way she had talked just now. 

 Robb nodded. "Sansa's in Dorne right now," he told his youngest sister. "She's married Prince Oberyn Martell as part of our alliance, as her duty as Princess." The way he said those words made Arya slightly worried. She had never been a princess before. She had deigned to become any sort of a lady as well. However, she somehow realized that she could easily shirk her responsibilities as a lady than that of a princess. It made sense. If Robb was King in the North, she was a Princess of the North. 

 "You can't marry me off too!" Arya protested. "I just got here!" 

 It was Talisa that eventually calmed Arya down. "Come, I'll have a hot bath drawn for you and we'll talk all about it," she said after Robb had introduced them both. 

 "How did you come to be Robb's Queen?" Arya asked her. 

 "As it turned out, I was sawing a man's leg off and he helped me..." 

* * *

 

 "Where are you taking me?" Sansa asked Oberyn and Ellaria. They had her blindfolded with a piece of silk and were leading her through the Water Gardens, Ellaria holding her left hand and Oberyn her right. They were walking so fast that she felt as is she was being spirited away. 

 "Hush, my love," Ellaria said. "You will love it when we get there." Oberyn only kissed the back of her hand, and Sansa gulped. She could feel the texture of the ground change, from the cool marble of the floor to that of sand, which started to collect in the sandals that she had worn. The Dornish weather was too hot for boots and she did not understand how Tyene could wear them and not feel as though her feet were sweating buckets. Soon, the salty sea air hit her nose and she realized that they were already at the beach right outside the Water Gardens. 

 When they finally removed her blindfold, they were a few feet before a beautifully drawn tent that seemed to be a tiny little palace, set before a modest burning fire surrounded by blankets laid a respectable distance away. Oberyn took her hand once more and led her behind the tent, revealing to her a sight that she had never seen before. They had walked until their feet touched the cool water. 

 The setting sun seemed to be sandwiched between two layers of dark indigo, while the area surrounding the sun a mixture of burning reds, oranges and purples. Sansa was so awed by the beauty that she saw that she did not realize Oberyn snaking his arms around her waist. She just watched the sun dip ever deeper into the sea, welcoming sweet caresses and kisses here and there from her two lovers. 

 When the sun had finally set, Sansa thanked them profusely. "It was beautiful," she said, followed by a chuckle. "This sounds ridiculous, but I've never been in the sea before." She had stayed in King's Landing for three years, but where she was allowed to roam, Blackwater Bay was too deep. She once sat by the bay, where the port was with Shae, making up stories about where the ships came from and where they would go. 

 "Another first taken by us then," Ellaria teased, giving her a purposeful suck on her lower lip. "We are honored." 

 It was then when Sansa finally realized their gambit. By then, Oberyn had already began to fuss with her gown. Sansa had taken to adorning the wide, plunging necklines of her gowns with chained brooches. It was another layer of "protection" for her from them, knowing that the almost translucent, pale blue gown would be easily forced downwards from her shoulder without them. However, her efforts were wasted when he showed his expertise in undressing her, and before long, in a flurry of heated kisses with and also without Ellaria, she had been as naked as the day she was born. 

 "Have you ever made love under the stars before?" Oberyn asked her with that sly smirk on his face after he had shed his clothes as well. 

 "You would know the answer to that, husband," Sansa replied in the same manner. Ellaria came up behind her, already undressed, pressing her full breasts against her back. "Will we be seen here?" she asked. 

 Ellaria pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "Not unless you want to," she said, gently nibbling on the arch of her neck. Sansa could see her hand moving towards Oberyn's groin, stroking his manhood. It was only then did she realize that she had never once thought to pleasure him. 

 Sansa watched as Ellaria got on her knees, licking his manhood from base to tip. It was sensual, how Oberyn had so fluidly responded to her. Oberyn stretched his hand towards her, beckoning her to go to him. When she did, he kissed her hungrily whilst he rubbed the apex of her thighs gingerly. 

 She could feel her nipples pebbling in the sea-breeze, and then Oberyn's teeth catching one of them betwen his teeth. Her fingers burrowed in his hair, and she gasped at how instantly warm she was with his body so near hers. 

 Suddenly, she felt, Ellaria's hand reaching towards her shoulder, and she took it as a cue to join her. She had stroked his manhood before, during their first time together, but seeing what Ellaria had done, she decided to follow suit. The first touch she had gave him was a rain of kisses all over his cock, and when she was more confident, she ran her tongue up and down the shaft. Ellaria would do the same thing, and their own lips and tongues would meet in between. 

 Something in her stirred, and she turned her eyes towards her husband and he returned that gaze. The look of pleasure in his eyes, his face contorted in ecstasy,  _that_  was the most erotic thing she had ever seen. To know that she had so much power over a man like her husband. She only had Ellaria to thank for that. 

 Oberyn brought both of them to their standing height, and began to kiss them both before he led them into the tent. "It is your turn, now, my loves," he said, lying flat on the plush mattresses in the tent. Ellaria had gotten his meaning exactly, but Sansa did not. 

 "I will ride his cock and you, his mouth," Ellaria told her with a kiss to the corner of her lips. Sansa had not known that such a thing was possible, but hearkened to her suggestion. She and Ellaria faced one another, and they descended upon him in unison, Ellaria crying out in pleasure when Oberyn filled her. 

 Oberyn had hooked his arms over Sansa's thighs, but she felt drawn towards Ellaria. She sought the other woman's lips, her collarbone, her breasts... She did not think it possible that such ecstasy could be shared simultaneously. 

 Before long, they started to change position. This time, Oberyn would penetrate Sansa from behind while she laid over Ellaria, pleasuring her with her mouth and fingers as the latter did the same to his balls. An ingenious thought came into Oberyn, and he began to alternate between sheathing himself in his wife and withdrawing to let his paramour suck him. 

 Sansa did not not know how long they were at it, only remembering that in her orgasm, she had felt Oberyn's throbbing manhood pulsating within her depths. They had reached their peaks together. Ellaria had come to completion just after Sansa found no will to move, letting the waves of whatever had been gathered in her core wash over her. 

 They had collapsed into a heap of naked flesh, slick with sweat and as they recovered, they began to exchange light kisses until Oberyn rose and walked towards the table at the far end of the tent. He returned with a cup in his hand, and took a hearty sip from it. He then sought Sansa's lips, passing the liquid to her through the kiss. Tea, it tasted like tea. Oberyn repeated the action until the cup was empty. 

 "It is moon-tea, my love," he explained to her. At once, Sansa understood what had transpired. Oberyn had spilled his seed within her. They had not wanted a child between them for the time being. Sansa felt that it would be safer bringing a child into the world when times were little more peaceful, while Oberyn had deemed her too young to bear children. She would not be mentally prepared for such a great responsibility as well. 

 "You will have to take it again after twelve hours for it to work," Ellaria reminded her. 

 Sansa nodded and thanked the both of them. She was blessed to have them by her side, truly. They thought of everything, and in their arms, and in the very least, they were a beautiful distraction. It was as if the world around them did not matter when they were like this. "I love you," she murmured to the two of them before drifting away to sleep, utterly spent, leaving Ellaria and Oberyn to scheme away for the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Arya is home. I put it off until now because I'd thought that she would have something better to do training to be a Faceless Man, but I couldn't think of anything for her to do from Braavos, so I decided to bring her home. Don't worry, I'll have plans for the Hound. 
> 
> WHEW, what did you guys think about that smutty scene there? 
> 
> Enjoy!


	27. The Surprise

 "She is a beautiful girl, Your Grace," Missandei told Daenerys, who was working on a drawing with a piece of charcoal on paper. She was never particularly good at drawing, but she had tried to apply herself in  _something_  during her days as a refugee, moving from city to city, hiding from Robert Baratheon's agents. "Have you seen her before?"

 Daenerys shook her head. "I've not, but, she exists in my mind. Rhaegal once burped a ball of fire and I saw her in the flames as well. I can't explain it." 

 "Can't explain what, Your Grace?" Barristan Selmy asked her. 

 "This girl," Daenerys told the Lord Commander of her Queensguard. "Ever since Astapor, I had a feeling that I'm being watched. After we've taken Yunkai, the feeling only got stronger." She had told him this before, and he had dismissed her thoughts gently. She decided to show him what she had meant and displayed the drawing for him to see. "It's a rough sketch, but, Rhaegal coughed out her image in his flames..." 

 For whatever reason, he had paled upon looking at the sketch. "That's not possible," he said, his white brow furrowed. 

 "Why?" Daenerys asked. "Do you know her?"

 "Know her?" Barristan Selmy exclaimed. "Your Grace, she is Sansa Stark, the daughter of Lord Eddard Stark. She was once betrothed to Joffrey Baratheon, but she is now a Dornish princess, married to the Red Viper, Oberyn Martell." 

 Daenerys dropped the piece of charcoal in her hand. "She is Lyanna's niece?" she concluded. She had heard the tale far too many times before. Her brother, Rhaegar had abducted Lyanna Stark and kept her in a remote tower in Dorne. The Starks demanded her back, along with Robert Baratheon her betrothed. Together, they rose the uprising that ended her family's dynasty. 

 "Yes, she is," was Barristan's reply. "Your Grace, Lord Eddard Stark might have risen against your family, but he had done so only to avenge his own. Your father burnt Lord Rickard Stark, his father in the throne room itself in his armor while Brandon Stark was forced to look on. He killed himself trying to save his father because he was tied to a strangulation device, his fingers just almost reaching the sword that could cut the chains that bound his father." 

 Daenerys' eyes widened. She had never heard of such a tale before. She had never heard of her father's cruelty. She knew that her father was mad, but she did not know of its extent. "You were there when my father killed the Starks?" she demanded. 

 "Yes, I was," Barristan said. "The throne room smelled of burnt flesh for weeks." 

 "That is why she is spying on me?" Daenerys asked. "She wants vengeance for her family?"

 She had expected an affirmative answer, but Barristan shook his head. "The Starks value honor to a fault," he said. "They only wanted justice for the murders of their family. It ended when your father had died. When Robert Baratheon sent his assassins to kill you when you had just married Khal Drogo, Lord Eddard Stark reasoned against it. Now that Lady Sansa is a Dornish princess, she is your relation by way of the Martells. She has no reason to harm you." 

 Her brother Rhaegar had married Elia Martell, who was the sister to Sansa Stark's husband. She had heard that the Martells had a deep hatred for the Lannisters that stemmed from the murder of Elia Martell and her children. "So, she is no threat, this Sansa Stark?" she asked. 

 "No, she poses no threat," Barristan said. "She has no army nor does she have a motive. Perhaps Ser Jorah would tell you more about her. He is from the North as she is." 

 Jorah looked towards them and also Daenerys' sketch as he walked past them and decided to join the conversation. "Lady Sansa was trained to be a lady at age three, Khaleesi. But they say that the Starks have strange gifts in them. They are descended from the First Men and they were never conquered. In the Age of Heroes, the First Men and the Children of the Forest fought together to defend the world from the Long Night, and as a result, they were given gifts of strange abilities by the Children of the Forest, and some say, that strain exists in the Stark line." 

 "What gifts are they?" Daenerys asked Jorah. 

 He only shrugged. "No one knows," he said. "But like you and your family, the Starks have a bit of the old magic from a forgotten age. If you can have your dragons, then Lady Sansa could have her strange gifts. Magic  _is_  real now." 

 "I suppose so," Daenerys said. Whoever Sansa Stark was, perhaps she was just like herself, trying to find a place in the world that was filled with so much blood and chaos. She picked up her piece of charcoal again and placed the last curls of Sansa Stark's hair. She set the sketch down and turned to Missandei, "Tell the caravan to prepare to move. We've dallied for too long this morning." 

 Missandei smiled and nodded. "Yes, Your Grace." 

* * *

 

 It was barely dawn when Sansa woke. Carefully, she pried herself away from the mess of arms and legs that she, Oberyn and Ellaria had become in the night and walked towards the beach wrapped in a thin blanket. Although she could not see the sun, she could still see the indigo of the night being replaced with bright light, lifting the darkness and returning it to pale blue. Thus, she plopped herself down and continued to look upwards. 

 "Why is it that whenever you stare into the distance, I feel you have something in your thoughts?" Ellaria asked Sansa, breaking her from her gaze towards the sky. The older woman sat next to her and patted her lap. Sansa instinctively laid her head there, using Ellaria was a pillow. "You are troubled, my love, ever since we've come back to Dorne." 

 "I'm not," she tried to lie. "I just wanted to look at the sea..." 

 "You are troubled, my love," Ellaria repeated. "You tend to look into the distance when something's in that pretty head of yours."

 "I don't know if I truly  _belong_  here," Sansa said. "Dorne's beautiful, the family's wonderful, but... I can't hide out here all my life. I..."

 Ellaria's expression told her that somehow, she had expected that she would say something like that. "You need only say the word, and Oberyn will ride for war by your brother's side with you in tow," she told her, caressing the side of her fair cheek. "But you don't want that, don't you." 

 "If Robb needs Oberyn, he'll have to go," Sansa said. "But..." She looked towards the direction of Essos, where the center of their alliance was, where Daenerys was. She was a Greenseer, and perhaps a warg. She could be of use to help her with her dragons, which were growing larger and larger. But then again, she could just as easily fill that role when Daenerys crossed the Narrow Sea. 

 "You'll want to spread your wings," Ellaria finished her sentence for her. "I understand. When I was younger, I felt the same way too. My father had me raised like you, you know. I learned to run a keep, even though I was a bastard and he wanted me to look after our keep. Naturally, I wanted nothing to do with it. I spent my youth traveling all over Dorne, escaping my father until I met Oberyn." 

 Sansa could not help but chuckle at her story. "Look at you now," she said. "You're a mother of six and... you're helping Doran to manage the Water Gardens as much as he lets you to." Doran preferred the term "outsourcing", when it came to Ellaria's assistance in the management of the Water Gardens. Although the seat of the Martells was in Sunspear, the Water Gardens were their private residence, of which half was opened to everyone. She could be allowed at least such a private responsibilty. It was true that Dorne held bastards and trueborn children in equal regard, but since they had the rest of Westeros to contend with, somethings could not be forced no matter how they fought against it. 

 "I can see the irony, but it is what I have accepted for my fate," Ellaria told her. "You are so young, my love, even younger than I was when I tried to escape my father. I understand if you'll want something more than just being Oberyn's wife, especially when you've just escaped one gilded cage. I cannot caution you to wait, but you must think before you set foot out of Dorne. The world is a dangerous place, my love, far more dangerous for a beautiful girl with  _two_  powerful surnames. The bounty on your head will buy a man enough gold to last three generations if things turn out for the worse." 

 That much Sansa understood as well. "I'll stay here, for now," she said. "I've quite a lot of lessons on diplomacy with Maester Caleotte as well." The good maester was going to teach her on the subtleties of politics in Essos, and she intended to learn as much as she could before she really was sent there. 

 "Perhaps we could have Oberyn make good on actually teaching you how to fight," Ellaria suggested. "Although, at this rate, you'll only be able to barely defend yourself." 

 "I'm not sure about that," she said. She remembered that it was merely a jest. "Besides, I would have Brienne with me, if it really comes to that..." 

 "If it really comes to that, you will need as many blades as you can have," Ellaria cautioned. She took up a stick and twirled it around expertly, as if she was handling a knife. "My father also made sure that I knew a thing or two before he stopped hauling me back into his keep whenever he caught me." 

 Sansa nodded in understanding. "Have you been to Essos, Ellaria?" she asked. She knew Oberyn spent five years there, fighting with the Second Sons and traveling there. 

 "Sometimes, to accompany Oberyn on trade ventures," Ellaria said. "Dorne trades more with Essos, my love, than any other part of Westeros. it is more feasible and more... palatable." 

 Then, Sansa's eyes brightened. "Do you think that we will have the chance to go one of these days?" she asked. 

 In fact, Ellaria smiled. She retrieved a piece of paper, a sealed letter with the seal of Winterfell. "Obara and Nymeria sent this, it arrived last evening, but Oberyn and I decided to celebrate whatever news the letter carries with you first." 

 "How would you know that this carries good news?"

 "Oh, they said so in their letter." 

 Eagerly, Sansa read the contents of the letter and she was so happy that she had squealed and hugged Ellaria tightly, kissing her over and over. "Arya... Arya found her way back to Robb and Mother!" she exclaimed. Tears were welling in her eyes, tears of happiness. She had thought that she would never see Arya again. "And... Robb's appointed me as his Ambassador... I'm to go to Volantis..." 

 Ellaria was smiling widely at the news. "His queen is from Volantis, no?" she reminded Sansa. "House Maegyr is a very powerful family there." 

 Sansa nodded. "He wants me to bring gifts and good wishes to his in-laws, and a message from Talisa." Inside her letter was another sealed letter, written in High Valyrian. "Does her parents know that she is pregnant?"

 Ellaria shrugged. "Perhaps they will after you've brought the letter to them," she said.

 "How is it that you already know so much more than I do?" Sansa asked, Ellaria, who only looked towards Oberyn, who sat next to them. 

 Oberyn kissed her forehead. "I thought by now you would have realized that Obara and Nymeria stayed with Robb not merely because they're 'hostages' or that they truly believed in his cause," he told his wife. "They are our eyes and ears in the Northern Army, my love." 

 "What else have they discovered?" Sansa asked Oberyn. 

 "That the Hound, Sandor Clegane was the one that delivered your sister," Oberyn returned pointedly. "He asked for three chests of silver in payment and in his own words 'twenty   pretty women to fuck until he can't fuck any longer'." 

 "Did Robb give him the women?" Sansa asked. 

 "Queen Talisa sourced them from the brothels at Lannisport herself, according to Nymeria," Oberyn answered. "Robb plans to buy the Hound's service." 

 Sansa nodded. "The Hound is bloodthirsty like his brother, but he has a good heart. He saved me a few times when he was Joffrey's bodyguard." She remembered a particular episode when she was so close to throwing Joffrey off the ramparts after he had made her look at her father's severed head on a pike. "He'd do well as long as Robb knows how to control him." 

 "Now come, I hear that you are to be on your way to Volantis as your brother's ambassador," he said, picking Sansa up in his arms. "We must see that the Lady Ambassador is well prepared for her journey." 

 "Will you come with me?" Sansa asked both Oberyn and Ellaria. 

 "I'm afraid that it will only be Oberyn and you, my love," Ellaria said with almost a pout. "After all,  _he_  was the one who has married into the North. Besides, you would need a Dornishman when dealing with Volantenes." 

 Sansa thought that Oberyn would be carrying her back to the tent, where her clothes were lying in wait for her, but they did not stop. "Oberyn... my clothes are back in the tent..." 

 "Oh, did you have any need of them?" Oberyn asked. "I was on the impression that the Lady Ambassador would have a whole new wardrobe commissioned for her, as a wedding gift from her husband..." 

 "What if someone sees me?" Sansa asked. "I'm not wearing anything!" 

 "You have me and that blanket around you," Oberyn told her. "Is that not enough?" He was teasing her and she knew it. It wasn't fair, how much sway he has over her. The warmth of his body was all she needed and she would melt into nothingness. 

 Thus, defeated, Sansa relented and resigned herself to being carried by Oberyn back into their chambers. "'Lady Ambassador' though," she mused. "Is this the proper term?"

 "It is one used in Essos," Oberyn pointed out. "Here is Westeros, we are seemingly one nation, however we fight between ourselves, but it Essos, each city is a state onto itself, and they send ambassadors to one another as emissaries of peace." 

* * *

  When they returned to their chambers, Sansa could see a few maids shuffling about space that was to be Sansa's closet. It would seem that Oberyn did mean it when she was receiving a full new wardrobe as a wedding gift. 

 She had a few new dresses made for her from the time of their betrothal until their last days in King's Landing. He had not wanted her to be paraded in the gowns given to her by the Lannisters or wearing the ones that she had clearly outgrown. Being from the North made Sansa very frugal, and she had not the heart to wear most of them. When she had been unconscious, Ellaria had helped her to bring as much of them as they could carry and she had made do with them until now. 

 Now, Sansa had more than a few dresses. There were ones made of velvet for the winter, stored next to the furs that had reminded her of home. There were a few that were salaciously cut, coming from one ribcage to the other, crossing at her neck, revealing everything below her breasts until her waist, but had separate long, voluminous skirts in matching colors. Some of them weren't even skirts, but were very wide, flowing trousers that eased movement. Oberyn seemed particularly proud of one that was made in Qarth. It was made of light-colored silk with intricate embroidery. The gown had no bodice to say the least. It was into two separate pieces from the filigreed belt, and each piece would cover her breasts, connected to the cape by shoulder pieces made of the same material as the belt. It was the color of the night sky, accented with silver and sky-blue gems. 

 "It's beautiful," Sansa exclaimed after Oberyn begged her to try it on. If she was to act as a diplomat, she would have to dress like one, he reasoned. She would be representing not only the North, but also the Riverlands and Dorne. She would needed to impress all that looked upon her. The wardrobe was only a tiny part of what she had to have in her arsenal. 

 "You are beautiful," Oberyn corrected her. It was rumored that Daenerys Targaryen had worn something similar when she was in Qarth, but it was not before long that she developed her own alterations to the fashions of the Qartheen. Sansa, however, was to be a diplomat. She had to be seen to respect the local culture and she had to be seen to be powerful enough to afford the very latest of fashions. As it was, Sansa played the game like Margery Tyrell, playing within the bounds of her role as a noblewoman, not outside of it, and she was playing it very well. She had no need for instruction in statecraft. All she needed was information so she could properly pry her craft. "No princess could be fairer." 

 For whatever reason, Sansa blushed. She had thanked her husband's compliments with a kiss, and he readily accept it. However, she had a feeling that it would not be the only gift she was receiving. He led her to the study, where there were two boxes waiting to be opened. The first was a simple dagger about 18 inches long. It was beautifully made, with sapphires that matched the color of her eyes and onyxes at the hilt. "I will teach you how to use it tomorrow onwards," he said, fighting the urge not to rip her Qartheen gown to shreds just to have her again. He then pushed her fiery red hair to one side and waited for her to open the second one. 

 It was a necklace with the most exquisite pendant she had ever seen. It was made of gold and depicted the Northern direwolf chasing the Martells' sun and spear. A perfect amalgamation of their two houses. Sansa was at a loss for words, gently caressing the pendant while he helped her to wear it. "When you present yourself to the Triarch Maegyr of Volantis, you will be 'the Lady Ambassador, Princess Sansa of Houses Stark and Martell'," Oberyn told her. "No one would dare underestimate you then." 

 When she threw herself into his arms, it would be the second time she had cried that morning, out of joy and thankfulness. "Thank you," she sobbed quietly. 

 "Shh, my love," he hushed her, kissing her tears away, and when they had dried, leaving her eyes reddened and slightly swollen. "You are the most peculiar thing, Sansa. You can stare down your enemies in court until their hairs bristle at the back of their necks, even as they torment you, but you cry when you are happy..." 

 "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I just..." 

 "Stay the way you are," Oberyn said, sweeping a stray piece of hair away from her face. He knew that it was only when she was with him and Ellaria, or her family that she had allowed this trait to show through. It had honored him to know that she had trusted them as much as her family. 

 "I'll never take this off," she promised him. "I'll wear this until my last day." 

 Oberyn nodded, and sealed her promise with another kiss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder what will happen when Sansa meets Dany. HMMM. 
> 
> I based Sansa's new wardrobe on Dany and Missandei's, by the way. I'd take it that whatever they wore around Essos would be considered the height of fashion. 
> 
> Enjoy!


	28. Learning

 The days that followed Sansa were grueling. At dawn, she would have a light breakfast with Oberyn and Ellaria, and then they would depart to the empty space near the armory where Oberyn would teach her the basics of the martial arts. How the Dornish had fought was different than what she knew how the Northmen had. Oberyn had placed much emphasis on how correct and strong her stances were, how she had breathed and the clarity of her mind. It would be the good part of a month before she was allowed to start sparring with him with a blunted imitation of the dagger he had given her. In the afternoon, after a quick bath, she would meet with the younger Sand Snakes in the schoolroom, where Maester Caleotte presided over their education. They would learn about the various cities in Essos, what languages they spoke, what things they traded with and what their cultures were. Sansa then realized that most of the economy of Essos were driven by slaves. Only Braavos and Pentos did not practice slavery, and Sansa's stomach churned when she heard about how the Unsullied were trained, how there were slaves marked with different kinds of tattoos to show what they were used for. 

 "How many tongues are there in Essos?" Sansa asked Caleotte. "Which is the most dominant?" They all spoke the Common Tongue in Westeros. High Valyrian had been taught, but only as a language of learning. When the Dragons had died, so were the popularity of High Valyrian as a language that only the truly intellectual and the Targaryens learned it. Sansa was not familiar with the tongue at all, for she was born in an age where there were no dragons and no Targaryens. 

 Caleotte did a rough calculation and said, "There are dozens, actually. One could never manage to count them all. However, most of the Free Cities speak their own variants of Valyrian, be they High or Low, and the Dothraki speak their own tongues. In Slaver's Bay, they speak Low Valyrian peppered with words from the old Ghiscari Empire which existed even before the Valyrian Freehold." 

 "Which tongues should I learn?" Sansa asked further. "I'll need to learn how to converse with my brother's in-laws if I am to be his ambassador." 

 "For you, princess, I would think High Valyrian would be sufficient," Caleotte said. "After all, these different languages are actually intelligible to one another... to a certain extent." 

 "Could I trouble you then, to teach me after the evening meal?" 

 "Of course, dear princess, of course." 

 Thus, Sansa's days were a constant stream of lessons. From sunrise, continuing after sunset. She would only retire deep in the night, her head feeling as sore as her arms and legs. She would be too tired to do anything else, even to make love, content to have either Oberyn or Ellaria by her side as she slept. 

 "Papa, you are overworking your wife," Tyene said as she and her father lounged about one afternoon with Ellaria. "She had never stopped ever since she came here. I'll bet that you hardly get to see her all day." 

 "See her?" Oberyn repeated. "I only see her shadow apart from the mornings." If anything, Sansa was determined. She knew that she had to learn in weeks what others had learned in months, and what she learned in months, others would normally take years. She took in everything that would be taught to her, and she tried her hardest to apply it. When she had grasped enough of High Valyrian, she spoke it with Oberyn during their training sessions. She would giggle with Elia, Obella, Dorea and Loreza in it in the schoolroom. 

 Ellaria raised an eyebrow. "I warned you," she told Oberyn. "I know how much promise Sansa can have, but at the rate she's going, she will end up a tired woman when she reaches Volantis." Sansa had been trapped so long that she grasped at freedom. If everything that she had been doing would give her that freedom, then she would do it. Sansa had told her once, how happy she was at the thought of being queen one day that she did not stop pestering her mother about it. It had been a habit that she had carried from childhood. 

 "So it is my fault now?" Oberyn asked his paramour and daughter, particularly aghast when Tyene emulated Ellaria's expression. "Is it wrong to want to indulge my wife?"

 "Since when was so much work 'indulgence'?" Tyene returned with a raised eyebrow. "I'd be bored to death if I was made to work so hard!" 

 Oberyn shrugged. "She seems to enjoy it," he reasoned, but was still met with a frown from his daughter. "You, on the other hand, should be more diligent with your training. Sansa would be on par with you soon if you continue slacking as much." 

 "Papa..." Tyene glowered. However, she was interrupted by Sansa coming out of the schoolroom after her younger sisters. She looked so tired that she had slumped on another couch, visibly ignoring the others. Her father would have gone to her, if Ellaria had not stopped him. Slowly she crept towards Sansa and found that she was already sound asleep, snoring even. "She's sleeping," she reported. 

 "I do not care what happens, you will put Sansa to bed and chain her there if you have to," Ellaria told Oberyn, uncaring that she was patronizing him. "She's too tired to even walk!" 

 "Yes, my love," Oberyn said, obeying Ellaria's every word. He walked to the couch where Sansa was and picked her up, marching up the stairs that led back to their chambers. Gently, he placed Sansa on the center of the bed where she would be between him and Ellaria. Even with dark circles under her eyes she looked incredibly beautiful, and the weeks of training had further refined her body... Finding himself in need of a nap as well, he cradled her in his arms and fell asleep as well. 

* * *

 He woke when he felt Sansa stir. It must have been deep into the night already, and Sansa bolted from the bed, mechanically moving towards her closet to get dressed. 

 "Sansa, where are you going?" he asked her. 

 "I'm late for my lesson with Maester Caleotte," she repeated groggily. "I'm just so, so stupid," she ranted to herself. "I must have overslept..." 

 Oberyn chuckled and walked towards her, holding her by her waist. "I told Maester Caleotte that you would be excused for tonight," he said. When she looked towards him, big blue eyes begging askance, he said, "You went straight to sleep after you emerged from the schoolroom, my love. Ellaria would have had me throttled if I woke you up." 

 At least, Sansa had relaxed a little and allowed him to lead her back to the bed. From the way she had looked, she was nursing a minor headache. "When will the ship to Volantis be ready to sail?" she asked Oberyn, pulling the covers around her, her head leaning upon his shoulder. 

 "In a week, I would think," he said. "Is the Lady Ambassador ready for her voyage?" 

 "I think I am," she said. "I'm just worried that I'll open my stupid mouth and say something wrong." 

 "The Volantenes are not a cruel people," he explained to her. "Well, not everyone in Essos are cruel, unless you happen to cross them." 

 "And how would you cross them?" 

 "Oh, there are ways," Oberyn said. "The most important thing would be one should not disrupt anything that would prevent them from making money." 

 Sansa furrowed her brows. She had learned that much of the economy of Essos runs on the trade of slaves. Slaves were used as currency, for food and goods, and even as tribute to the Dothraki hordes so that the Horselords would not attack their cities. They who came from Westeros could not imagine such a fate to be meted out to fellow humans, although the smallfolk lived lives as dreary and terrible as that of slaves. "But... Daenerys Targaryen is trying to stop slavery in Essos. Wouldn't that be counter productive?"

 "The Silver Queen is... flexing her muscles with her noble quest," Oberyn said. "She has dragons, she has armies, but she has no experience. Anyone would try to see what they can or cannot do, like you, my love."

 "She wants to learn to rule," Sansa concluded from Oberyn's words. "Maybe she thinks that if she can't control Slaver's Bay, she won't be able to control Seven Kingdoms." 

 "Five," Oberyn corrected her. "The North and Dorne will stay independent, remember?"

 "What about the Riverlands?" Sansa asked her husband. "Didn't the Riverlands swear fealty to Robb?" 

 "I would think that is only a temporary measure," Oberyn said. "Does your uncle Edmure really want to cede being Lord Paramount of the Trident and be Robb's vassal instead?"

 Sansa shook her head. It was a question that she could not answer. "I've never seen my uncle Edmure since I was a girl," she said. "I wouldn't know what he'd want." 

 "Five then," Oberyn returned to his original point. "However, Robb is having such a fun time ruling Casterly Rock, are you sure that he doesn't want to steal it away from the Lannisters?"

 "He's too honorable to do that," she said. "Robb's just like Father." 

 "Would you?" Oberyn asked her. "What would Sansa Stark do if she took Casterly Rock?"

 Sansa fell silent. She had never thought of such a thing before. "I would... take it as my own," Sansa answered after a long moment's thoughts. "I will rid Casterly Rock of Lannisters, and I will feed them to Cersei and Lord Tywin in meat pies. Is that what you want to hear?"

 Oberyn chuckled. "That would be a worthy venture," he said. "But in all seriousness, my love, what would you do if you have conquered a land?"

 "I would determine if I should make my home there," Sansa said, looking Oberyn in the eye. "I would see if it holds any strategic value, and if there are any survivors who would not my presence there. If I am to rule, then I will." She was born a Stark, and she was meant to marry any prominent son of the Great Houses in Westeros. Her marriage to Oberyn was in line with the destiny a girl of her station was given. Given the chance, she could be the lady of Sunspear, a lady that her mother had always envisioned her to be. "Why all the questions though, is there something on your mind?"

 "I was wondering, what kind of leader would you be," he told her, kissing her forehead. "Will you rule with an iron fist or would you throw conventional wisdom away and rule with what your heart tells you like your brother." 

 "What would you have me rule, though?" she asked. "There isn't anything that anyone's not yet claimed." 

 Ah, she did not have the spirit of a conquerer, and Oberyn was at least relieved. If Sansa had wanted to become a queen by her own right, he would do everything and pay every cost to have her dreams come true. He thanked the Gods that she was content in being a princess. 

 They fell into silence again. It was a comfortable one between them. In the months of their marriage, he had discovered that she was most at peace in those moments, where they would lie together in bed, his arms around hers, not speaking a word. They were both creatures that retreated deeply into their thoughts, and bit by bit, he began to understand how she had functioned. 

 While fire burned within his soul, there was a cold rage in Sansa. She was kind to all that would show her kindness, but she had reserved a special fate for those that had done her ill. She was patient. She had learned that patience when she had learned to survive King's Landing. She would lie in wait until the opportune moment struck. Thankfully, she was wise enough to see that it was not now. That made her the perfect match for Dorne, and for him, and he had thanked the Gods for sending her to him at times. 

 "Tell me about your travels in Essos," she pleaded him, after a particularly long silence, one that almost brought him to sleep. "When did you go there?"

 "Oh, I was all over the place, quite literally," he said. "One day I was in Pentos, and the other in Lys. I was young then, itching for a fight and itching for a good fuck here and there." He had purposely used the word with his wife, knowing that her lady's sensibilities would be scandalized. It was an endearing to see her eyes widen so when came across something that offended her. 

 "And did you find any of those?" Sansa asked on, clearly not giving into what he had wanted. Besides, she had lived in King's Landing for three years. She knew all the foul, uncouth words and heard them being used all the time by the people who should have been the most "refined". It was ironic, really, but she, the Northern bumpkin would prove the most reluctant to use such words, only out of habit. 

 "Why, yes, and more," he answered with a wide smile. "Nymeria's mother was a noblewoman from Volantis whose father had hired the Second Sons. I forgot what we were fighting for, but I remembered that her father had given us five chests of gold that glittered so brightly in the sun that one's eyes would hurt. However, I decided as the lieutenant that I would have  _some_  of the spoils, if you get what I mean. Thankfully, her father did not skin me alive when he found out that she was with child. In fact, she had not wished to give Nymeria to me, and it took a lot of... coaxing on my part to bring her to Dorne." 

 Sansa understood perfectly. She could also see that he was immensely proud of Nymeria, who seemed to have a cooler head than Obara. But then again, Oberyn had loved all his daughters the same, fiercely and protectively. She had marveled at how confident he was in them, but seeing how Robb had so easily trusted them in his army, she knew that he would be absolutely right to worship his daughters in his way. "How long did you serve under the Second Sons?" she asked him. 

 "One year," came Oberyn's answer. "War... is war, in Essos or in Westeros," he added. "It never ends, and when people find a new thing to quarrel about, their swords and spears will rise. It would seem that war is in human nature, my love." 

 "Then I should thank the Gods that my husband is one of the best warriors in Westeros," Sansa said, her fingers threaded in his. He gave thanks to her compliment with a sweet kiss. 

 "You should be sleeping, you know," Oberyn reminded her. "Ellaria will have  _both_  our heads if you fall into your breakfast bowl in the morning." 

 Sansa nodded with a yawn, and was asleep before long. 

* * *

 Arya was adamant that she would not be herded into another lesson from a Septa, even if there were plenty of Septas that would teach her to do so at Casterly Rock. She could tolerate the lessons, but she had made it clear that she wasn't going to live like a lady. Catelyn was livid that Arya would not continue her education as it had been in Winterfell. "Your sister  _studies_  all afternoon and night for her upcoming mission in Volantis," she told Arya firmly. "Sansa knows where her duties lie." 

 "Sansa doesn't have to learn to sew or embroider any more," Arya said. "Besides, she  _wants_  to be a diplomat now.  _I_  want to learn to fight!" She had killed her fair share of men throughout her travels. She had wanted to be a Faceless Man as well, to learn from Jacqen H'ghar, but now when it seemed that she was now a princess, and not a mere lady, she wanted to be a warrior princess, like Nymeria Sand's ancestor.

 Talisa could only smile kindly on her youngest sister-in-law. She was a precocious young one, and like every member of her husband's family, carried steel in her bones and steel in her will. However, where Arya was concerned, she had no say at all. Catelyn had resumed her duties as a mother instantly, and Arya had had many arguments with her ever since she returned to her family. It seemed to her that said argument must have started since before their family was parted. It had carried the weight of many years, and had most probably stemmed from Catelyn's unspoken wish to return things to her own version of normalcy as soon as possible, as much as she was able to. 

 Obara, however, favored the little princess' tenacity. Arya had reminded her much of herself when she was younger, when she had lived a simple life with her mother, but yearning for a life that had... more for her to explore. "Lady Catelyn, Princess Arya, let me tell you a story," she said. "When I was a child, my father came to take me to court. I'd never seen this man and yet he called himself my father. My mother wept, she said I was too young and a girl. Oberyn tossed his spear at my feet and said, 'Girl or boy, we fight our battles, but the Gods let us choose our weapons', and my father pointed to the spear and then to my mother's tears. I chose the spear, and this is where I am now." 

 "See?" Arya said, gesturing at Obara. "Obara's father  _wanted_  her to learn to fight, and she's doing a good job as Robb's Captain now!" 

 "Alright," Catelyn said, finally acquiescing to Arya's demand. "If you want to fight like Obara, you will train like Obara." Her voice was fierce and strong. It did not thunder across the room where the women of the Stark family had claimed for their daily activities, but everyone fell silent. They knew that Lady Catelyn was being deadly serious and she would not be undermined or swayed. "If I hear so much as a peep of complaint from her or Nym, they will march you back to the Septa's schoolroom and you  _will_  do whatever the Septa tells you to do." 

 Arya had gulped a little, slightly fearful of her mother's threats. However, deep down inside, she would rather suffer such threats than not see her mother at all. "I will, Mother," she said, hugging Catelyn happily. "I'll not disappoint you at all!" 

 "Are you sure that you can take on Arya, Obara?" Catelyn fretted, looking towards the oldest Sand Snake. 

 "It is not a problem, Lady Catelyn," she said. "Beside, Nymeria and I will need some practice here and there." Her casual smile faded when her eyes met with Arya's. She wanted the little princess to know that she had meant business. "We have a lot of experience, knocking sense into our little sisters, if Princess Arya would have us, that is." 

 Arya decided that she was not afraid of Obara at all. She had wanted to learn to fight properly, and she would go through with her wishes. "I would, Obara," she said. "Thank you." 

 "Well then, we'll meet at dawn in the training fields. Just you, Nymeria and I." 

 "Deal". 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a little feel-good chapter focusing on the Stark sisters. Nothing too heavy, for now that is. 
> 
> I wonder what would happen if the Lannisters knew that Sansa was heading to Volantis though. HMMM. 
> 
> Enjoy!


	29. Trying Something New

 The ship that Sansa and Oberyn were sailing to Volantis in was the flagship of House Martell. It was a trading cog, moderate in size compared to the treasure ships of the Lannisters. This was because Dorne had a rocky coast and most of its coastline was unsuitable for ships to lay anchor save for places like Planky Town, which was the main harbor for Dorne. The cog was named the  _Evening Star,_  in honor of the first star that appears in the sky at dusk, and because the ship had a habit of returning home precisely at dusk after each voyage. 

 "She is not the fastest or the largest, but she is the most-loved in the Dornish fleet," Doran told Sansa. "Our navy is... negligible to say the least. We have a few battleships, but they are mostly used to protect our waters from pirates and the odd slaving ship or two." 

 "Slaving ships?" Sansa asked with her eyebrow raised. "Do slavers dare to come so close to Westeros?" 

 "Slavers will do whatever they can to increase their... stocks," Doran said, trying to find the best possible word. "I would think that you, of all people, would know that there is a black market for slaves in Westeros. I remember Lord Eddard Stark pursuing one of his bannermen for selling poachers to slavery, no?"

 "That would be Ser Jorah Mormont," Sansa said. She had been a small girl then, but the lesson her father gave all his children were well remembered. "He escaped to Essos where Father could not find him... He could be with Daenerys Targaryen now, couldn't he?"

 Doran did not expel the possibility. "Open your eyes and your ears, Sansa," he told his sister, giving her hand a brotherly pat. "Daenerys has sacked two cities in Slaver's Bay and there will be much to learn about her actions even in Volantis." 

 "What if we are seen in Volantis by Lord Varys' little birds?" she asked Doran. "What if he tells the Small Council?"

 It was a question Oberyn answered. "I find no problem in a bride and groom traveling the world and celebrating their nuptials," he said. "Dorne has long been a trading partner of Volantis, and we are guests of the Triach to secure a new deal." 

 Sansa did not press the issue further. If Oberyn had answered in that manner, it would mean that it would be the answer that Varys would give the Small Council. However, she knew that there would be some amount of danger that Dorne would be betrayed, which was probably why the  _Evening Star_  was not the only ship that would leave Dorne, but two small, modified galleys, the  _Turtle_  and the  _Sparrow_ , both of which had reasonable amounts of artillery on their decks, in case of any eventualities. 

 "Well, you have to make sure that Papa doesn't kill or injure any of the Volantenes if they drive prices too high," Tyene told Sansa. "They're famous for being a little... exorbitant." 

 "Exorbitant? They charge three times higher if you don't deal in slaves," Sarella added. 

 However, Ellaria was in great confidence that Sansa could handle Oberyn. "Do remember to keep him away from the pleasure houses when you stop in Lys. He'll never come back to do business if he stays in there for too long." 

 "Are they so enticing?" Sansa asked Ellaria, who shared equally wicked grins with Oberyn following her question. She had known that Lys was famous for its whores and courtesans, but she did not understand why. 

 "I  _could_  show you just how enticing they are," Oberyn told her suggestively, chuckling when he saw her face redden immediately. It was a wonder, really. Of all the things she had done with him and Ellaria, she was still so... proper about bedsport, and he found it to be quite... adorable. It was as if one could bring Dorne into a Northerner, but one could never take the North out of her. Doran could only shake his head at his brother's antics. "We shall speak more of our plans when we begin to sail." 

 "Whatever it is, remember that you job is to help Sansa," Doran reminded his brother. "If you jeopardize her mission in any way..." 

 "Doran, do you think that I would be so foolish as to be a burden to my lovely wife?" Oberyn asked. "I'll not only have  _you_  to answer to, but the Young Wolf as well.  _Older brothers_...." 

 His last quip had made Sansa chuckle a little. It was a running joke now, the rivalry between Oberyn and Robb. It had started since their alliance had begun and Sansa enjoyed how prickled one made the other. It was highly evident that Doran and Oberyn loved one another fiercely, but having him deal with Robb, a brother-in-law who could not stand him in every way, it brought Sansa some entertainment, because she knew that deep down inside, the two of them had more similarities than they had differences. 

 " _Behave_  yourself," Doran added sternly. When he had first ventured in Volantis, he had impregnated a noblewoman with Nymeria. It had taken weeks of negotiations to secede Nymeria's custody to Oberyn, for he had wanted his daughter and not the noblewoman. If Nymeria's maternal grandfather had been one of the Triachs of the time, the political and economical consequences could have been too great for Dorne to have handled. The second time he had been there, he had gotten into a very hot debate with a leading merchant on the currency to be used for Volantene steel that they had wanted to buy, which was closest to Valyrian steel in making without Valyrian magic and dragonfire. Oberyn had wanted to use Braavosi coins, which was a common form of currency in the Free Cities, but the merchant had wanted his steel to be paid in slaves or he would have to increase the price of his steel. Oberyn had left with a trail of insults and Dorne having to source said steel from Qohor, which was further and thus, costlier to transport. However, he had opened a trade route between Qohor and Dorne, which dealt less in slaves, and returned with Qohorik tapestries and woodworks which fetched high prices throughout Westeros. 

 "Oberyn will," Sansa promised Doran. She was sure that in his capacity as her husband, he would have to apply  _some_  degree of responsibility, if not for his love of her. 

 Doran nodded. "Then go with the wind, dear sister," he said, as Oberyn said his farewells to his younger daughters. 

 "Thank you, brother," Sansa thanked him, and kissed him on both cheeks before she walked towards the ship with Oberyn, their arms linked. Brienne followed close behind them after giving the ruling family of Dorne a formal parting bow. 

 "Don't worry, uncle," Elia told Doran. "Sansa has Papa eating out of her very hands. He'll be good on her account." 

 "That is what I hope for, sweet child," Doran replied. He had hoped that nothing... untoward would happen to them both, although there was a shadow in his heart that told him otherwise. 

* * *

 At times, Catelyn had mourned her choice of heading to King's Landing after there had been an assassination attempt on Bran shortly after his fall that left him crippled. She should have been there with her youngest boys, and if she had been there for them, they would not have to wander through the North, perhaps even further than the Wall, if Theon was to be trusted at all. 

 She had also mourned for not bringing her daughters back with her. It pained her to see the changes within both Arya and Sansa after she had seen them again. Arya had been so quiet, moody and even  _brooding_  like her brothers Robb and Jon (by then, news of Robb legitimizing Jon Snow into Jon Stark had passed through the Seven Kingdoms from the Citadel). She had asked to be martially trained, and Catelyn entrusted the Sand Snakes to train her. Little did she know that Arya had such an aptitude for swordplay that she actually had potential in it. Nymeria had even quietly told her that Arya's little sword, Needle, had been whet with blood before, but Arya said nothing about it to her. She refused to speak of anything about her travels after Ned was killed, and seemed eager to push it into her past. 

 Then, there was Sansa. Sansa had been tortured and humiliated by Joffrey, her own betrothed, but had been given to Oberyn Martell as a wife by the Lannisters, who were unaware of the alliance forged between their two families. It had been a clever ploy, her daughter's marriage to the Red Viper, and it seemed to free her from her bonds to the Lannisters. Sansa had returned like Arya, changed. However, where Arya had gone darker and silent, Sansa had returned more jubilant and wiser. Where Catelyn oldest daughter once dreamed of chivalric knights and handsome princes, she had  _married_  a prince but she seemed a different person altogether. This older, wedded Sansa was as keen as a sword's edge, her eyes holding a strange fire that she could not name. If forced to, Catelyn knew that this Sansa would have the blood of her enemies wet upon her own hands. 

 Both her daughters had returned to her, and they were no longer the same. She had mourned for the loss of their innocence, each in their own way. Such a change had scared her. 

 "Come on, you little runt, you'll have to be faster if you want to hit me!" Obara had shouted towards Arya, who was struggling with an exercise. Her cries had brought Catelyn back to the situation at hand. It seemed that there was a common wisdom that all courtesy would be placed behind when one entered combat. It was either to attack or be attacked. No one would stop to think if their opponents had higher birth or greater wealth, all that mattered was one's skill upon the battlefield. 

 Arya was small for her age. Months upon months without proper food and shelter had rendered her that, but Obara was determined for her to learn to use her size as an advantage. Those that were smaller were faster. Those that were smaller had access to viewpoints that those who were larger had not. Arya had a small sword, but Obara's spear gave her the advantage of range. 

 "You just wait," Arya growled, eager to find a weakness in Obara. The way Obara had swung her spear covered her like a shield, and it was difficult for her to find an opening. Something told her that if she was going to land a hit on Obara, she had to make sure that she could do it in one single stroke. She sheathed Needle and put her left foot in front of her right foot, merely because it had held a little more comfortable to do so. When Obara started to shout at her for giving up before she had started, Arya stepped forward with her left foot and unsheathed Needle, lunging towards Obara with a forwards strike. 

 Obara was able to deflect Arya's attack with her spear, but the force and speed that Arya had been traveling at were so great that the momentum of the parry had started to turn Arya's body around she was able to deliver a horizontal arc towards Obara that cut into her leather armor. If Arya had been fighting with a normal-sized sword, Obara could have been dead. 

 "That's amazing!" Catelyn could hear Robb exclaim. She did not even realize that her son was by her side until he had spoken. Immediately, Robb ran into the sparring ring to Arya's side and ruffled her hair in awe, after which he helped Obara to rise. "Where did you learn how to do this?"

 Arya shrugged. "It just felt right, I guess," she said. "Obara was moving her spear a lot, so I decided that I needed to make her stop so that I could actually hit here." 

 Obara nodded. "It is a technique that only the best masters have discovered after years of training, Princess," she said. "There are many names for it, and it exists in the training manuals from across the world. However, broadswords are not suitable to use it because of their two cutting edges, which would have too much friction between the blade and the sheath." Needle was actually a broadsword, although it was a very tiny one, so she was able to succeed in pulling the attack off. 

 "What kinds of swords are used for it then?" Arya asked Obara. 

 "Single bladed ones, that looked like long, curved kitchen knives," Obara answered. "There are a few of them from Yi Ti in my uncle's armory. They are wielded with incredible speed. A man can be cut in two if the wielder is strong and quick enough." 

 Robb agreed with Obara. "We had one or two in Winterfell as well," he told Arya. "But, they're unreliable. Those blades are used for slashing, not cutting. They can't penetrate plate armor in combat." 

 Obara nodded. "Then one wielding such a sword would have to find their advantage through the gaps in the armor," she said, raising Robb's arm and pointing at the joints and his armpit. "When you can exploit these, your victory is certain." 

 "It would take  _years_  of training to actually see that during battle," Robb countered. "But... that's essentially what it means to use a single bladed sword." 

 "Father hired Syrio Forel, a Braavosi Water Dancer to teach me," Arya said. "He said that we all fight like great brutes with our armor and great, big swords." 

 "Think of it this way, Arya," Robb said. "You might have all the skill in the world, but if you do not adapt to what your enemies have, you will certainly be defeated by them. Dornishmen would be easily cut down by knights in plate armor because their swords and armor are light if they move too slow." 

 Obara sneered, but held her peace. Robb was trying to teach his sister a thing or two, not to incite any cultural differences on the battlefield. However, what he had said held truth. "Even if you remove the armor of Westerosi knights and put them in Dornish armor, they'd still be slower than Dornishmen," she argued after Arya had gone to Catelyn's side for a drink of water. "They're not used to the light weight." 

 For whatever reason, Robb did not return any barb. Instead, his face lit up in a strange way that Arya only recognize when he thought that he had a bright idea. "Obara, you're a genius!" he exclaimed. He was so suddenly pleased with her that he had grabbed her by the cheeks and kissed her left cheek with a loud smack. 

 "Your Grace?" Obara asked, not really understand what was going on. 

 "Here's what we're going to do, Captain Sand," Robb said. "Since we're halfway through rearming the men, we might as well stop the production for the new ones and redesign the armor to fit what our soldiers need to do. They need to withstand powerful blows, but they need to be fast as well. It will take more than a lifetime to train soldiers who can do both." 

 "Robb, what are you trying to say?" Catelyn asked her son. 

 "We're going redesign the armor," Robb proclaimed. "Using more leather will cost less and speed up production. We can arm our men in the new leather in half the time, and the armor will weigh drastically less..." 

 "So they can move faster..." 

 Robb nodded. "I like the way you're thinking," he said. "I shall speak to the lords immediately. If they agree, we'll get our plan underway as soon as possible. Obara, I want them assembled within the hour." 

 "Yes, Your Grace." 

 Arya watched in awe as she saw her brother moved from one end of keep to another. "Was he always like that since he left home?" she asked Catelyn. She had never seen Robb like that before. She knew that he had many good ideas in his head, but he was never one to so openly reveal them. Perhaps now that he was the king, everyone  _had_  to listen to him, so he was not afraid of doing or saying what he wanted. 

 "No, I guess... not," Catelyn answered. Robb was acting in a very peculiar manner that day, although it was true that he was constantly thinking about ways to improve the northern army, on new battle tactics based on the latest news from King's Landing. But, he had been moody and brooding like Arya for the past several days, so she reckoned that it would be a good change for him. 

 Just a few minutes after Robb had left, Obara emerged in the training grounds again. "Princess Arya, His Grace summons you to the Great Hall," she told Arya, completely dropping the hostility she had for her in the ring. Giving Catelyn a polite nod, she ushered the youngest Northern princess to where her brother was, his lords fully assembled. 

 "My lords, I have a proposition for you," Robb said, with bits and pieces of both leather and plate armor laid out before him. They were smaller versions of the ones used in actual battle and Arya was the perfect size to model them, so he made Arya stand on a wooden chair and while Nymeria and Obara put on different combinations of the armor on her. 

 The lords did not know what to make of their king's suggestion, to marry traditional plate armor with that of Dornish leather armor. It had seemed like a brilliant idea, but they did not know if the idea would work in real life. Even the Blackfish, who had been a staunch supporter of his grand-nephew, was undecided on the matter. 

 "Playing with armor is no laughing matter, Your Grace," the Blackfish warned. Many of the Northern lords nodded at his words. 

 "We shall carry out a small test then," Robb said. "We shall pit ten of our best warriors in plate, against ten of the best Dornishmen in leather and ten more in the new mixed armor. If the ones in the new armor win, then we shall start production immediately." 

 It was hard to refuse such a sincere attempt of coming up with a way of further improving his own army, and even going so far as to asking their opinions on the matter. No king has ever done this, no one but Robb. It was only because of the sincerity of their king that they agreed to his request. The process of rearming their men would take slightly longer then, but if it had a chance of improving their chances of survival, then perhaps, they would tolerate this delay. 

 Only because Robb had  _asked_ them for their opinions. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are Oberyn and Sansa going on their honeymoon, or are they going to Volantis for work? Hmmm
> 
> I do not know how well Robb's idea would work in real life, but transitional armor does exist. So....
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> P.S: Did anyone see that Rurouni Kenshin reference I placed in this chapter?


	30. What will You do?

 Sansa had surprised herself for not getting seasick, despite the fact that this was her maiden voyage. She had found that she loved the sea more than she had expected to. Just having the wind in her face, balmy and warm, and not howling and cold was a genuinely refreshing experience, so much so that she had spent much time on the deck, just looking outwards towards the Narrow Sea, which, by the nature of its name, was actually busier than she had imagined. There were ships of all kinds crossing from different parts of Westeros to different parts of Essos, ships bearing arms, or things to trade, some of them slaves. When Oberyn stood by her, he taught her how to differentiate the various ships upon the sea.

 "Sometimes, foolish pirates would attack Braavosi ships thinking they contain coin from the Iron Bank," Oberyn told her. "But they would chance across a ship full of Water Dancers. They met their end soon enough." 

 The term "Water Dancer" made Sansa's ears perk up. "Arya had a Water Dancer as her teacher before Father died," she told him. "I was still so foolish that I actually thought that he was a real dancing master." She had since learned that the Braavosi Water Dance was a form of martial arts used to directly combat the heavy, forceful way of Westerosi knights. Their movements were languid and flowing, as shown to her by Sarella two mornings before their voyage started. 

 Oberyn chuckled. "I wonder, what sort of person would you have been in more peaceful times," he asked her with a kiss to her forehead. 

 "A silly girl with stupid fantasies," Sansa answered plainly. "Even if we had met, you wouldn't even remember me." She had learned in her years in King's Landing that strength only ever attracted strength, no matter the person. Even sweet-natured Robb had readily cast aside his marriage pact for Talisa, a noblewoman who now worked as a healer. They had met in the aftermath of the Battle of Oxcross, where Talisa had berated Robb for perpetuating war and violence. 

 "Are you sure?" Oberyn asked. "A beautiful Northern girl who is kissed by fire certainly would have been in the center of everyone's eyes," he told her. She could feel his hand moving to places that she could only hope for when they were alone in the privacy of their bed, but she decided to swat it away in a plea of decency. There were many sailors around them, and although they paid her and Oberyn no heed, she did not want to distract them in any way. 

 "Behave," Sansa said, as sternly as she could, but the heat of his hand over her breast, even if said breast was fully clothed, was too much for her to handle. She could not put on a straight face, to convey that she did not appreciate him seducing her in broad daylight before the ship's hands. She did not want him to think that she was so easily pliable by his affections, and she certainly did not want him to use it to his advantage. 

 "My love," Oberyn whispered wickedly into her ear. "Are you sure that you want me to?" he asked her, his lips pressed against the back of her neck. "It is a beautiful day, and I have you all to myself..." 

 It was no lie that he was overjoyed that Ellaria and Sansa had openly accepted one another. However, with two beautiful women between him, he often ran the chance of being nothing but the  _man_  between them, as if he was the added bonus and not them. If one did not have a careful eye, they could have guessed that Ellaria and Sansa were the ones who were bonded to one another and he was their paramour instead. Perhaps if they had not all been highborn, that would have been the case. 

 Sansa blushed, remembering the times the three of them had come together as one. It was an experience that she would never forget, and even reminiscing them making love under the stars made her cheeks hotter than ever. "Oberyn... not here..." she mumbled when his hand got dangerously close to the apex of her thighs. She could feel more than a pair of eyes upon her as it already was. 

 "Where?" he challenged her, biting down onto her earlobe. 

 "Anywhere but the deck..." she rasped, almost digging her fingers into his arm in an attempt to stop him from going further. 

 Oberyn smiled slyly and picked her up almost effortlessly, and quickly descended below the deck, stopping just before they reached their cabin. There was no one there, and it was enough for Sansa, at the very least. Once out of the line of sight of others, his wife grew in ferocity. She brought her arms around his neck, peppering him with kisses, pressing her own body against his. 

 "Look at you," he said. "You have  _missed_  me, haven't you?"

 "Yes..." she barely whispered. In the one month that she had buried herself in her studies, she had found herself missing intimate contact. There would be times in the schoolroom when she would try to focus on the lessons she was currently having, but instead, she would be fantasizing about Oberyn and Ellaria, where they would touch her, and where she might touch them. But every night, she could not even lift a finger, much less engage the two of them in bedsport. If not for the chance to actually sweat it out in the mornings with Oberyn, she feared that she would have done something... drastic as the result of the tension building within her. She just did not know what it would be. 

 Carefully, Oberyn hitched her skirts upwards, careful not to damage the fragile material. She loved that dress. It was seemingly more modest than the ones that he had paraded her in when they were at King's Landing, but where it was cut modestly, it was made of silk of such high quality that it was near translucent. Had she walked underneath the sun, she would have given the world the silhouette of her shapely legs and well-formed buttocks. In short, she was glorious in it. 

 Sansa wasted no time either. Once he had her where he wanted her to be, she instinctively reached for the laces of his breeches. They had access of each other's nether regions the same time. She had given him long, appreciative strokes, and he had found her womanhood already moist for him. Knowing that he was in a similar state for her as well, she looked into his eyes longingly, her blue eyes glazed with desire. There was no time to lose. Slowly, he entered her, noting that she no longer quivered upon initial contact. Keeping her back pressed against the door, he managed to bring her legs around his waist. Such a position allowed them much... freedom of motion and they had started promptly, his thrusts long and deep. 

 They let out different sounds. His were muted groans, while she was gasping his name. She knew that it was going to be a quick coupling, for she felt the coil within her already tightened to the point of no return. She clung onto him, trusting him to bring her to that plane of ecstasy that only he could bring her to. Craning his neck into hers, they rode out their climaxes together. Of the many times that they had become one, she felt that she had liked this encounter best. They had been alone, him having her in the corridor, their movements coupled with the movements of the ship on the waves... 

 Panting, they parted. For whatever reason, she had chuckled, and buried herself in his arms after he had returned her feet onto the floor. Sweet kisses and loving words were later exchanged, and when they were no longer tired from their coupling, he tipped her chin and said, "Avy jorrāelan. Do you know what that means in the Common Tongue?"

 "I love you too," she replied. Once, she had not known that she loved him. All she knew was that she  _needed_  him, if not for his protection then for his warmth. She had been a dove in a gilded cage, and now that she was free, she knew that she could never be really free from him. She could be whoever she wanted, do whatever she wanted, but she had owed everything to him, for nothing would have been possible without him. The more she had learned of the world, the more honors she had gained, she felt that had he not stepped forward to claim her as his betrothed before the Lannisters could decide who she would marry, she would have doomed to a terrible fate. 

 "Now, what do you want to do?" he asked her. They had only barely started their journey, and it would be days before they reached their first stop, Lys. 

 Blushing, Sansa said, "I'll need some Moon Tea first..."

 "Well then, we shall have tea, and then, we shall decide." 

* * *

 "What is your price?" Robb asked the Hound. He had come to Clegane Hall with the Sand Snakes as well as Theon, surrounded by the best of his men. 

 "What do you mean, 'what is my price'?" the Hound asked in return, obviously uncaring that he was speaking to the King in the North. "I'm not going anywhere and that's final." 

 "That would be an awful waste, wouldn't it?" Robb asked him. It was a rhetorical question, one that did not need answering. "We are in the middle of a war, and you like killing." 

 "But I don't like kings as much as I like killing," the Hound replied. "I stopped fighting for one king, what makes you think that I want to fight under another one?"

 Robb smiled. He never had to sell himself so hard for anyone before, but he knew that it was already a good start for him. "Because you didn't believe in fighting for a Lannister bastard. Your family was sworn to the Lannisters for generations, and what did that give you? You were a king's dog and your brother, Tywin Lannister's personal butcher before Oberyn Martell butchered him," he said.

 "I hated my brother," the Hound interrupted Robb. "He burned my face. I'm only sorry that I wasn't the one that done him in." 

 "I'm sorry," Robb offered. 

 "Do you know what made it worse?" the Hound added. "It wasn't the smell of my own burning face, it was my father who said that I was burnt by some bedding that caught fire. He protected my cunt brother despite what he did to me!" 

 Ah, Robb knew what went on in the Hound's heart already. He was disillusioned. He no longer believed in the world, that justice would come to those who deserved it. "Fighting for me won't right all the wrongs that have been done to you," he told the Hound. "But it will at least start healing the wounds that you will have. Kill my enemies for me and I assure you that you will not want for anything in your life ever." 

 "My answer is still 'no'," the Hound returned. "You can have your fucking wars with the Lannisters, and you can go fuck around with the Martells. Leave me out of it." Obara and Nymeria had bristled slightly at the very mention of their father's House, but Theon held them back wisely. 

 "Very well, if that is your final choice," Robb said. "I won't be bothering you now, Lord Clegane." Before he left, he left an envelope on the table and signaled the Sand Snakes and Theon to leave with him. 

 "I'm no lord," the Hound replied, causing Robb to turn to face him. 

 "Oh, are you sure?" Robb asked, pointing towards that envelope, "Says right there that you're a lord now. Think of it as my thanks for helping to bring Arya back." 

 The Hound did not pick the envelope up until Robb had left. He read the contents of the envelope in disbelief. It was a Letters Patent. He was now Lord Sandor Clegane. Although it had meant little because of how small Clegane's Keep was, but it had mattered much. His grandfather had been a kennelmaster that was raised to be a landed knight. Now, he was a lord. Of course, if one were to argue, Robb Stark was a rebel who named himself king and he had no right to give such a gift in the Westerlands, but... who the fuck cared? He was a Lord now. 

 "Are you sure that a Letters Patent could have bought the Hound to our side?" Obara asked Robb once they had left Clegane's Keep.

 "The years have been cruel to Sandor Clegane, Captain, what he needs is recognition, the ability to move past the hurts that he have suffered. Show him that he is appreciated in this world, and he will come running to you. He is, after all, the Hound." 

 "What will you do with him when he comes running to you?" Nymeria asked him. 

 "I'll let him continue being the Hound," Robb said. While Obara was a fierce leader and Nymeria highly excellent in providing intelligence and Theon returned to being his majordomo, he needed a butcher like Gregor Clegane had been. However, he needed one that at least had some form of underlying morals. Sandor Clegane was the perfect one for such a job. 

 "I'll give it three weeks," Theon wagered. "What about you?" he asked the others. 

 "Two," Nymeria answered. 

 "One," Obara added. 

 Robb did not join them, because he already knew the answer. 

 "Wait, Your Grace," they heard the Hound behind them. "I've considered your offer..." 

 "And?" Robb asked. "What do you choose?"

 "Get me men to kill." 

 "There's a good man, Lord Clegane." 

* * *

 "Varys, I want news," Tywin demanded in yet another meeting of the Small Council, while mentally noting that it was getting smaller and smaller. Cersei no longer sat on it, following the stunts she had pulled after Tyrion's trial by combat while Oberyn Martell had left King's Landing as soon as Sansa was well enough to ride. 

 Varys sighed. "The good news or the bad news, my lord?" he asked.

 "Good news is good," Tyrion offered. "Let's start with the good news." 

 Everyone looked towards Tywin, who relented with a nod. Thus, Varys said, "We are very lucky that Sansa Stark's wounds have not worsened. She has been spotted in Lys with Oberyn Martell, having  _quite_  the time." 

 "What are they doing in Lys?" Grand Maester Pycelle asked. 

 "Prince Oberyn likes to travel, doesn't he?" Varys replied. "It's perfectly natural, a young bride being spoiled by an able groom. We all know that she needs some fresh air..." 

 "And the bad news?" Tywin asked. 

 "Robb Stark has legitimized his bastard brother Jon Snow," Varys said as Pycelle handed the proclamation to Tywin. "Prince Jon Stark would be the heir to the North, apparently." 

 "Isn't he supposed to be on the Wall?" Tywin asked. "How is a man of the Night's Watch supposed to inherit without forsaking his vows?"

 Varys shrugged. "My little birds in the North said that Jon... Stark had not been seen at Castle Black for quite some time now. He had gone ranging with Jeor Mormont and did not return with the Lord Commander. There are... unconfirmed whispers that he has forsaken his vows, but precisely how, I am unsure." 

 "I quite liked the boy," Tyrion commented. "He had more of Ned Stark in him than Robb Stark himself, but the poor thing was constantly... antagonized by Lady Catelyn." 

 "Keep a careful watch on the boy then," Tywin said. "If he ever dares set foot south of the Wall, kill him." Everyone acknowledged his instructions with a quiet nod. "Are there any more bad news then?"

 "The Hound has returned Arya Stark to her family," Varys said. "My little birds tell me that he was given three chests of silver from the... Lannister treasury and a lordship." 

 Mace Tyrell responded greatly to the last statement. "Good Gods, who does Robb Stark think he is?" he exclaimed. 

 "There are many kings now," Tyrion explained. "And each of them think that they are the rightful king..." 

 "Robb Stark will find one day that it is easy to win a throne and not keep it," Tywin simmered. Clegane was nothing more than a loose cannon, and he would not amount to much, no matter who he had sworn his services to. "Having the Hound by his side does not mean that he has gained the upper hand." 

 When the Small Council was adjourned, Tyrion decided to have a word with his father. "Have you ever considered why Robb Stark's been getting so many people working for him?" he asked Tywin. 

 "He knows how to buy them," Tywin answered. "Fills their heads with beautiful promises of hope, glory and valor. He thinks that getting us out of the way would grant them all these things, but he's wrong. There are forces in this world that have been working like clockwork. Even if he crushes House Lannister, another one just like us will emerge and the same would happen. It is a wheel and that idiot boy thinks that he can stop it from moving." 

 Tyrion sighed. At least his father knew the advantage that Robb Stark had. "We can't underestimate him any more, Father," he said. "The boy might be green, but he knows how to play on a different field. If he wins too many hearts..." 

 "Let him win them," Tywin said. "They will break upon the Red Keep like water on rock if they dare to try to take the capital." The Tyrells  _will_  have to uphold their end of the bargain, particularly when that little scheming fairy, Margery has been made Queen twice in a row. Their fates were now joined. He would have the farmlands of the Reach salted and burnt down if they ever dare renege the terms of their alliance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, it was a crazy three days for me. I'm sorry that I wasn't able to upload anything! 
> 
> I hoped you like that little steamy scene, there are more to come, heh heh! (Pun intended)
> 
> So, what do you get when a Hound decides to play amongst Wolves?
> 
> I decided to take a peek at King's Landing again. I wonder what Tywin has in store for Robb. HMMM. 
> 
> Enjoy!


	31. Repeats

Sansa realized that Oberyn had not been lightly jesting when he was talking about the experiences... provided at the pleasure houses of Lys. They had taken up residence at the Red Lotus, which was one of the... upper class establishments. It was not as luxurious as the one Lord Baelish had, according to Oberyn, but it was clean and free from disease, and was utterly notorious for the various prostitutes available for sale.

She had never entered such a place before. Although she knew enough to know how a pleasure house was supposed to function, she had no idea that it would have such... varied ranges of services. For those who only wanted sex, there were the booths that were cordoned off by heavy satin curtains, whereas for those that wanted a more... comfortable experience would rent out rooms with a presentable selection of food. The most peculiar service of all, were the prostitutes that were not prostitutes at all. They were called singing-maidens, but they all did more than just singing. They played strategy gems, were proficient in caligraphy, poetry in various languages. In short, they provided everything but bedsport. 

Brienne had descended the  _Evening Star_  with them, but entered the pleasure house with a soured expression. She did not know what to think about women who opened their legs for coins, when they could have done so many things to help themselves. However, it was not her place to judge. All she would do there is to stand guard at the door and come to Sansa's aid if necessary.

"Ah, Prince Oberyn, it is a pleasure to see you again," said the Madam. She was a portly woman, but Sansa could see that she once had very good looks. Her eyes were a dark, but bright blue and she had high cheekbones, her skin the color of burnished copper. Every movement of hers exuded experience. "This must be your..." 

"This is Princess Sansa Stark of House Martell," Oberyn introduced Sansa to the Madam, who gave her a very appropriate curtsy. "She is my... blushing bride." Sansa gave the Madam a polite nod. "Sansa, the Madam here is a descendant of the infamous Irogenia of Lys, and she has inherited much of her ancestor's charms." 

"Oh, Prince Oberyn, you sly dog!" the Madam chirped. "Your forked tongue is good for nothing but flattery, these days!" Even that little bit of flirtation was practiced and perfected, Sansa deemed. "Now come, how shall I help you today? It's not every day that we have real princes visit us." 

Oberyn looked towards Sansa, and she looked back towards him. She did not know what to do, or even what to say. She could not believe that Oberyn had the audacity to put the decision upon her. She knew that he was jesting, though, and swatted him on the shoulder. He chuckled, and said, "My wife is shy. Bring up a selection, Madam." 

Sansa's eyes widened when the Madam brought them to the room they were staying. It had a view of the sea, or one of their ship at the docks, more precisely. She now saw why Oberyn liked to frequent the Red Lotus. The Madam understood the needs of her clients, and was able to provide them with impeccable detail. 

"A selection?" Sansa asked Oberyn. "Just how many would you want?"

"As many as you would allow us to have," Oberyn answered plainly. "Boys... girls... you name it." He then whispered in his wife's ear, "Perhaps we should... experiment, having you being pleasured by another man as I take him..."

"I'll leave you to that," Sansa said. She had hoped that she would easily become libertines like Ellaria and Oberyn, but deep down in her heart, she knew that the two of them would be the furthest that she would go for the time being. She was not a warrior with honed senses like Oberyn. Although she had mediocre aptitude in defending herself now, thanks to her husband's thorough training, she still felt that being... intimate with others meant that she would be vulnerable for that time being. She would not be able to jump to her senses should anyone wish her harm.

Oberyn pouted. "You will not join me?" he asked her. 

Sansa shook her head. "Perhaps in the future," she said. Oberyn pressed a kiss onto her forehead. Her inexperience notwithstanding, he understood Sansa's concern. It was in her nature to be so guarded. "But... am I allowed to watch?" she asked him. She did not know why she had wanted to do such a thing, but she had decided that if Oberyn was going to go through a line of prostitutes, she would watch him go at it, just for the sake of it. 

 "Oh, my love," Oberyn said, pulling her down onto the bed. "I am yours to command. You will watch, and if you wish to join in, you must." She must be curious, his little minx of a wife. "Would you not at least help me choose the ones that you would watch me with?"

 "I could do that," Sansa said. She had wanted to see what... kinds of people Oberyn desired. She wanted to know his tastes and his fancies. They could have a thousand conversations about him, but she knew that she would not learn unless she saw him in action. 

 When the Madam returned, she had brought a vast... selection. There were girls from the Summer Isles, their skins so dark that they seemed to gleam under the sunlight, Lysene girls with their sparkling sapphire eyes and dark hair. She had never seen such exotic beauty in her life before. Then, there were the boys, beautiful sculpted, the ridges of their abdomens even more defined than that of her husband's. Oberyn had took her hand when they walked from one to the other, and she had felt... strange. She had been educated that prostitution was a degrading practice, one based upon lust. But they were healthy, and looked as if they were having a good time. With Oberyn's guiding hand, she sampled the texture of their skins, saw the gleam of their eyes. But there was one of the boys that did not sit well with her. 

 He had Shae's accent, so Sansa had guessed that he would be from Lorath. He wore a woman's necklace on his brow, as if it was a headdress, his hair worn long, touching his shoulders. He had seemed to be even more effeminate than Olyvar from Lord Baelish's pleasure house, but there was something within him that boded her with a sense of unease. The gleam in his eye was not teasing. It was filled with intent. Oberyn noted Sansa's long gaze on the Lorathi and nodded to the Madam, who told everyone but the two girls from the Summer Isles and the Lorathi to remain. 

"Are you sure?" she asked her husband. Oberyn saw the trail of her eyes and he told the Madam to wait. He returned the Lorathi boy to her and took the Lyseni boy instead. She was glad that he had come to trust her gut instinct, which had proved highly valuable to her survival thus far. The two girls started to undress themselves, while the boy only looked squarely Sansa, as if waiting for her to make a move. 

"At me," Oberyn told the boy, even as he wrapped his arms around the girls' waists. "We shall put on a show for my beautiful wife to watch, shall we not?"

And what a show it was. Oberyn's eyes had never left hers even if the where three others all over him. They had sucked and licked, while he had thrust and withdrawn... Her husband was tireless, and he had eyes only for her. He had put on a show, and he was showing her what he would do to her, if it was her that was in his arms. Sansa could have sworn that the prostitutes had forgotten everything that they had been known to do in their occupation, that they had truly been  _enjoying_  whatever he was doing to them. 

 Sansa could feel that familiar, winding sensation that would take her entirely coming. Her eyes had remained upon Oberyn. He was now penetrating the boy, who in turn had pleasured one of the girls with his mouth and the other girl would suck his manhood. 

 Her hand was reaching for her womanhood, she had gotten so hot, seeing Oberyn doing what he did best that she felt that she  _needed_  some sort of release. His sly smile grew wider, and he was just seconds away from going to where she was sitting and dragging her towards him. 

 

 The boy had jerked himself up, and suddenly Oberyn was brought away from her view and she could look into his deep, blue eyes. Something stirred within her. The world around her had suddenly changed colour, and she realized that when she looked towards the boy, she saw no face at all.

 

 She blinked. She did not believe what she was seeing. In the veil of green before her eyes, she could see every other face. That of Oberyn's and the two girls with him. The boy, however, had no face at all. 

 "Oberyn, watch out!" she shouted towards her husband. Brienne quickly came by her side, unsheathing her sword and ushering Sansa behind her, ready to aid Oberyn in any eventuality.

 Oberyn pushed them all away and reached for his spear. He did not know which one of them Sansa had warned him of. However, even before Sansa could indicate which one he should attack, one of the Summer Island girls took out one of the bejeweled pins in her hair, revealing a sharp, silver stake. 

 The girl had roared at him like as if she was possessed by demons. For one of petite build she carried a lot of strength, but she was easily overcome. After a few rounds, Oberyn was able to pierce the girl directly in her stomach, killing her instantly. 

 "An assassin... it would seem that we have been betrayed," Oberyn said, holding out his hand to Sansa, beckoning her towards him. He kissed her fervently, thanking her again for saving his life, but for whatever reason, Sansa was looking at the boy in utter confusion when her face. "Who are you?" he asked the boy. 

 "A man has no name," the boy answered. "A man knows that a prince and a princess are being pursued by their enemies. A man did not know that a princess possesses gifts beyond imagination." 

 At his words, Oberyn whipped his head towards Sansa. "He... does not have a face," she murmured, her words merely a whisper. It was not fear that muffled her voice, but rather confusion and fascination. In an instant, the boy disappeared and in his place was a man full grown, in the height of his prime. He was tall, his hair reddish with streaks of white. There was a scar on his face. 

 "A Princess has the gift of the Greensight," the man said. "A princess can see what others cannot. A man has once come into contact a princess's sister, Arya, many months ago, who saved a man from burning. The wide world is small, it seems." 

 "You are not here to kill my wife then," Oberyn said. 

 "A man serves a different purpose. A man cannot predict what he sees and what he encounters along the way. A man is... humbled by this meeting," he added. "However, a man must ask a princess and a prince to keep it a secret and never speak of it, even to a princess's sister." 

 Sansa nodded. "Not a word," she promised him. 

 "A man will watch two princesses with great interest," he said before leaving the room, but not before mysteriously changing his face. 

* * *

 The Madam was summoned immediately. The dead girl was quickly removed from the scene, but the Madam was not as she had been when they had first entered the pleasure house. She was now drenched in sweat. Her sapphire eyes bloodshot and she was stuttering and mumbling. She had not dared to meet Oberyn's eyes when she came in. 

 Oberyn in his rage was something that Sansa had never seen before. His expression was dark, but his lips curled into a snarl that she could not comprehend. If the Madam was a man he would have attacked already, but as she stood shaking before him, he was playing with the dagger that he wore at his waist at all times, twirling it around his hand expertly. Sansa could  _feel_  how fast his heart had been beating, veins upon his brow that she had never seen before. 

 "Why did you wish to kill us?" he asked the Madam, who had already started sobbing. "What was the promised price?"

 "I... I cannot say," the Madam pleaded. "Please... I have many children to feed..." 

 It could be she who facilitated it, but it was not she who orchestrated it. In his anger, Oberyn wanted to have the Madam killed, but Sansa stilled his hand. "We might not know who was behind this, but we can't put those who are mere pawns to blame," she reasoned with her husband, wrapping her arms around him. "Let's just leave this place and head straight to Volantis." 

 Oberyn nodded. "Thank the Gods that my wife is merciful," he told the Madam. "For I swear that I am not." He turned around to leave, but not before leaving some coin as payment for the services rendered before they were attacked. 

 "Cersei Lannister was behind this," Brienne said as they exited the pleasure house, marching back to their ship. "It has her dirty work written all over it." 

 "No, it wasn't Cersei," Sansa said. "If Cersei wanted us dead, she would have wanted to be here to watch us die. She would look right at us as the assassins kill us, blow for blow." She had imagined that if that day would come, Cersei would be the one who would twist the knife in her ribs. "It wasn't anyone of the Lannisters, for that matter." 

 "Then who, princess?" Brienne asked. "No one in the world wants you dead more than the Lannisters." 

 "Even if it was the Lannisters, they must have instructed someone else to do it," Sansa said. "I  _know_  Cersei, and this was not her work." Cersei would not be so foolish as to repeat the same mistake twice, she reasoned to herself, hoping that she would be right. 

 Oberyn agreed with Sansa. "If they wanted to kill us, they would not even tried to hide it," he reasoned, carefully helping Sansa walk up the gangplank of their ship. 

 It was then when they started to hear screams from behind them. Dark smoke suddenly appeared, and the sound of falling timber filled the air. It was the Red Lotus, and was already burning to the ground. "Whoever it is, they don't want us to know who they are," Sansa concluded. "Let's get out of here." 

 "I will talk to the captain immediately," Oberyn agreed. "The sooner we reach Volantis, the sooner we can return to Dorne."

* * *

 That slap was the hardest that Cersei had ever felt upon her cheek. She had never felt such a sting before in her life. 

 "You once thought that you were clever, but you were undermined because you are a woman," Tywin told her coldly. "Have you ever thought that you are not as clever as you think yourself to be?" 

 Twice. Cersei had failed twice, failed to kill a little dove. Sansa Stark had escaped death once by sheer luck. She should not have the same luck again. "She should not be left alive," Cersei replied. "As long as she is alive, the Martells will have a reason to rally with the Starks..." 

 " _If_  Sansa Stark dies, the Martells  _will_  have a reason to rally with the Starks!" Tywin bellowed. "What has become of you? Can you see no sense at all?" 

 Tyrion was silent as he stood next to their father. He had to give her credit for trying to assassinate Sansa again, although she was held under constant surveillance. He had pitied his sister, just a little bit, though. No matter how... abrasive she had been, their father had never been moved to strike her at all. "Sansa has nothing against you," he told his sister after their father had left. "How is it that you feel so much hatred for a little girl married to a viper?"

 "You don't see her as I do," Cersei said. "Those big, blue eyes of hers hold a malice that all of us could not have expected. I saw them when Joff lay dying, and I saw them when that snake husband of hers butchered the Mountain. She is planning our deaths." 

 "So you would get rid of her before she starts doing anything?" Tyrion asked. "Father married her to Dorne so that she could not threaten you or your children, have you  _ever_  figured that one out?"

 "Myrcella is in Dorne!" Cersei shouted, throwing her goblet at Tyrion. "That little bitch would have my daughter murdered in her sleep if I didn't do anything!"

 Tyrion shook his head. "I'm sure that Prince Doran is astute enough not to let his sister-in-law lay a finger on his future daughter-in-law," he reasoned. "I hope you do get back to your senses, dear sister. I would very much like to see you walk about freely again." 

 Cersei could no longer take his condescending smugness. "Get out!" she cried. 

 Tyrion left Cersei's room only to find his father still standing at her door. "She's... slipping, isn't she?" Tyrion asked Tywin. 

 Tywin sighed. "It would seem so," he said. "I fear that if Cersei goes unchecked, she would even reinstate the Faith Militant just to have some of her old clout back." 

 Guffawing, Tyrion could hardly believe Tywin's words. "Cersei wouldn't do such a thing, wouldn't she?" 

 "I know my children well," Tywin boasted. "I know what all of you are planning even before you have conceived the plan. Have Cersei's guard doubled. She is not to have any contact with anyone without my permission, not even Jaime. Am I understood?"

 "Crystal, Father," Tyrion replied. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit, that I am not used to guy-on-guy action at all, so you will have to bear with me fumbling through that little bit of smut. 
> 
> Yes, that's Jacqen H'gar in his little cameo. 
> 
> I wanted Cersei to have a slight... misstep, to show her downward spiral would exist even if Tywin's not yet dead. She's not in control of herself as she thinks she is, no?
> 
> Enjoy!


	32. The Ambassador

 "Tell me, Sansa, did you like what you see just now?" Oberyn asked Sansa that night as they sailed towards Volantis. 

 "Which part?" Sansa asked as she combed her hair. "You killing that girl or the fact I couldn't see that man's face?" She knew what Oberyn had been talking about, she just kept a straight face and decided to tease him. 

 "Don't you dare put that face on now," Oberyn cautioned. "Reserve that for your enemies, for those that have shown you harm, but not me." He had sworn to himself that he would seek to see her smile. "Leave that cold mask for court, my love." 

 At those words, Sansa relented. She put the comb on the dresser and climbed onto bed with him. "I could get used to this, you know," she told her husband. "Sailing on a ship, traveling here and there without a hint of responsibility..." 

 "We can do so if you so wished," he said, propping his head on his elbow so he could have a good look at his wife. "There is nothing in the world that says a second-born and his bride can't live off his brother's money and do as they liked. It is a  _given_." 

 "Mother would have Bran gone without his supper if he had such a thought," Sansa countered. "When Robb marched south, Mother said Bran was given the responsibility of running Winterfell." 

 "So did I in the years when Doran was able to travel," Oberyn laughed. "But now that my brother has taken sole rulership of Dorne, we have all the time in the world... technically. You, my love, have more responsibilities as Robb's sister than I my brother." 

 Sansa thought for minute and agreed with him. "You are right, dear husband, I do," she said. "I would want to make more of myself than a little dove for all to admire from afar." 

 "You are not a dove, but a wolf like your family," Oberyn elaborated, placing a kiss on her shoulder. "What a sight you would be, my love, wrapped in your Northern furs in the height of winter..." 

 "You'd dream of winter as if I'd dream of the sun," Sansa replied. "But you will find out that the winter is difficult. It's cold and the snow gets everywhere, through your gloves, your boots..." 

 "Just like the sand," Oberyn said, with a wry chuckle. Sansa had giggled as well. "Come, my love, there are many things I wish to show you, even more than what you have seen at the Red Lotus." 

 "Are you sure?" Sansa asked in return. "I thought you've shown me  _plenty_. Not many men can say that they have... lain with a Faceless Man." She knew that he realized how... aroused she had been as she watched him having his way with those prostitutes, even if the male one had been a Faceless Man in disguise. 

 With those words, Oberyn caught her lips in his, and they began to descend into a spiral of ecstasy. Sansa needed this, he told himself. She would need it before she was to see the Volantene Triachs, whether or not Triach Maegyr was her relative. 

* * *

 Three more days from Lys, Sansa, Oberyn and Brienne reached Volantis, city so large that Sansa had thought that King's Landing would be dwarfed by its sheer size. It had sat across the mouths of the Rhoyne, where the Rhoynar had claimed their descent before the Valyrians built their colonies there, and the harbor was so deep that it was said that it could swallow the hundred isles of Braavos whole. 

 The Evening Star laid anchor at a particular spot reserved for the Martells, and they were greeted by an emissary dressed in rich silks and satins atop an elephant, and there were two others with him. Sansa had never seen an elephant before. She marveled that the animals' tough, grey hides, their long trunks and large ears with their tusks which were the source of ivory. The tales of her childhood had said that they were beasts of great violence and temper, but the way that they had walked and stood told her that they were nothing but gentle giants. 

 "I am Khazdan," the emissary said. "The right-hand of Triach Maegyr. He brings greetings to Prince Oberyn of House Martell and Princess Sansa Stark of House Martell, the Lady Ambassador from the Kingdom of the North of Westeros and bids you to dine with him in his mansion within the city. A great privilege has been granted to the sister-in-law of Lady Talisa Maegyr, as well as her husband. You are to be admitted into the residences deep behind the Black Wall." 

 Sansa bowed her head low. "I am deeply honored," she said. "I thank the Triach Maegyr for his kindness." She had hoped that she was dressed well enough for the occasion. She was wearing a gown of silver silk which bared her arms and shoulders, in line with the cuts of the dresses worn by the women there. There were jewels in her hair, rubies, emeralds and sapphires. The Volantenes bow to nothing but power, and she must be seen to have power. So instead of embroidered direwolves that would have sufficed in Westeros, Sansa had a silver bangle on her right wrist, made in the likeness of a direwolf with yellow eyes veined with glittering gold. 

 Brienne stood behind Sansa, the porters behind them opening several great chests that contained wine from Dorne, various priceless furs from the North, and gold from Casterly Rock. "The Princess brings gifts on behalf of her brother, Robb Stark, King in the North," Brienne announced. "His Grace hopes that the Triach Maegyr will forgive him on his inability to be present today." 

 "My master dearly understands that His Grace, King Robb has a war to fight," Khazdan said. "We must not tarry, my Prince and Princess. My master is waiting." 

 The servants that Khazdan had brought with him eagerly helped Sansa and Oberyn atop each elephant, leaving Brienne to follow them on foot. From her studies, Sansa had learned that Volantis was a freehold like Old Valyria. The noble class were freeholders, who owned the land that made Volantis, and the Triachs were selected from each of the freeholding families. The Triachs would rule for a year, and for that one year, they would be carried everywhere by elephants, for their feet were not allowed to touch the ground. 

 "There are two factions of Volantene noblemen," Oberyn told Sansa as they rode towards the residence of Robb's in-laws. "The Tigers, heirs of the warriors of Old Valyria, and the Elephants, merchants and scholars. Since the Century of Blood following the Doom of Valyria, there have never been more than one Tiger who was voted as Triach." 

 "And Triach Maegyr, he is a Tiger," Sansa concluded. The elephants that they rode on had brilliant tapestries wrapped onto their backs. They were tigers everywhere. 

 Oberyn nodded. "A very proud one at that," he said. "He has been a Triach more times than the other noblemen who are eligible. Robb couldn't have chosen a more fitting woman to be his Queen. Talisa is his granddaughter." 

 "So we are blessed," Sansa said. "Oberyn, Robb didn't ask for ships, he just wanted me to give his gifts and respects... what should I do?" The Volantene navy was a formidable one, although one that consisted mostly of trading ships. They traded in slaves, of course, but Volantis, as the heir of Old Vlayria, had other things to trade as well. It was in Volantis that Valyrian steel could still be found, where their smiths could rework old blades into new ones. 

 "Look, Princess!" Brienne called out in awe from beside Sansa's elephant. There it was, the Long Bridge of Volantis. It had connected the two halves of Volantis, and inside, everything that could be bought and sold in the known world was there. The bridge was not only a bridge, but an insanely huge marketplace. The shops there were several stories high, and were built into the bridge. Sansa was awestruck that the amazing weight that the bridge could support. It was an architectural marvel, one that could only be rivaled by the Wall in Westeros, or perhaps the Great Pyramid of Mereen. 

 It took them a long while to get to the Black Walls. They were so wide that six four-horse carriages could ride on it abreast. There, only the freeholders and their families could enter. Slaves, foreigners and slaves who were freed could not enter. The very fact that they were admitted was an honor that could have only happened because they were relations to the Triach Maegyr. 

 The elephants stopped before a particularly large mansion. There were big, burly men who had tiger's stripes tattooed onto their bodies, surrounding an elderly man, who was obviously their master. Sansa could see Talisa's jawline and lips in that man, who was obviously the Triach Maegyr. 

 "Valar morghulis," Sansa greeted Triach Maegyr with a low bow. It was a standard greeting by those in Essos, and was the first phrase in High Valyrian that she had learned. 

 "Valar dohaeris," Triach Maegyr returned. "Greetings to you, my dear." His voice was kindly, and there was a light in his eyes that told Sansa that he had seen much in his life. He took Sansa's hand in his and kissed it. He then turned towards Oberyn and nodded his head. "Prince Oberyn, it is an honor to have you in our fair city again." 

 Oberyn followed Sansa's greeting. "I thank you for your kind hospitality," he said. 

 "Come, my son and wife are waiting for you," Triach Maegyr said, gently ushering Sansa and Oberyn into his mansion. He took Sansa by the arm, and almost bumped into Brienne. "Oh, forgive me..." he said. "Who might you be?"

 "Valar morghulis," Brienne said. "I am the Princess's sworn sword, Brienne of Tarth." 

 "Ah, Valar dohaeris, welcome, welcome!" he said. "You shall come with us as well!" 

 Triach Maegyr led them into a most sumptuous dining room, where various dishes had already been served. The food that was served there had filled the area of three tables, but there were only a few people there. Sansa realized that Talisa had inherited her beauty from her mother. Those large, doe-like eyes framed with long eyelashes.

 After the all the greetings have been exchanged, Sansa signaled to Brienne. "My brother Robb brings the customary wedding gifts to your family," she said. 

 Talisa's parents could not speak in the Common Tongue, but their reactions were clear for all to see. They had tried to be caustic, but were deeply touched by the gifts. They had thanked Sansa profusely in High Valyrian, and Sansa had a feeling that Talisa might have left Volantis without they have noticed. Among the gifts was a letter, and Talisa's mother was in tears after reading the letter. 

 "My graddaughter... was a rebellious child," Triach Maegyr said pensively. "She had decided long ago that she would not live like most ladies, to recite poetry and dance in balls. She was only sixteen when she told her parents that she would study to be a healer. When she finished her apprenticeship with the best of the healers in Volantis, she left us a note saying that she would leave for Westeros, where slavery is not practiced..." 

 "My brother met her upon the battlefield," Sansa said, remembering what Talisa had told her of her meeting with Robb. "It was love at first sight, and now Her Grace is with child." 

 "Whoever knew that she would one day be a Westerosi Queen," Triach Maegyr sighed. "Although, there are many Queens now, are they not?"

 Oberyn nodded. "It is called the War of the Five Kings now," he announced. "Robb Stark, Tommen Baratheon, the late Renly Baratheon, Balon Greyjoy and Stannis Baratheon. All of Westeros is now consumed in war." 

 "And how certain is Robb Stark in winning this war?" Triach Maegyr said. "What does he want to achieve by fighting in it?"

 "Robb fights for justice," Sansa answered. "He is fighting to avenge our father, and to assert the independence of the North. He will fight until he wins." 

 There was a pensive look on Triach Maegyr's face. "And now Dorne is in league with the North?" he asked Oberyn. "Forgive me, but your sudden marriage to Princess Sansa comes to us as a little... surprise." 

 "We share a common vengeance," Oberyn answered. "And now I thank the Gods for bestowing Sansa upon me." Sansa had blushed at his words, and he had gently caressed the back of her hand with his thumb. "The Lannisters have ordered the deaths of my sister and her children, as well as Sansa's father, Eddard Stark." 

 "I see," Triach Maegyr said. "You must understand, that we have to have our eyes and ears towards you in Westeros, to protect our interests. I cannot imagine the economic damage to Essos if Westeros is to fall upon itself." 

 "I understand completely," Oberyn said. "Stay assured that we will try our best to contain the war within Westeros."

 "And what of Daenerys Targaryen?" Triach Maegyr asked further. "This Westerosi girl also claims herself to be a Queen, and seeks to end all slavery in Essos. She has razed Astapor to the ground and felled Yunkai. Currently, she is marching towards Mereen. What are your designs for her?"

 Sansa gulped. She had never expected such a question to hit her. The Stark-Martell alliance had been riding on the possibility that Daenerys would cross the Narrow Sea with her dragons. They would aid her to win back the Iron Throne in exchange for the independence of their separate countries. 

 "We would support her claim should she ever cross the Narrow Sea," Oberyn replied, as though it was plain as day. 

 Triach Maegyr nodded, but said nothing else. "We ask nothing but the fullness of my granddaughter's life," he said. "Talisa is greatly loved by our people, and they will be overjoyed to know that she has found happiness in a Westerosi king."

 "Robb loves her dearly," Sansa added. "Believe me, my lord, he will do everything to ensure that Her Grace's happiness is secured." 

 "May the Gods prove your words true, Princess Sansa," Triach Maegyr replied. "Well now, please, my dears, eat! We have spared no expense in preparing this meal!" 

 Oberyn had told her the various dishes that were served to them, and out of courtesy, she took small bites of each even though many of them that she did not agree with. Brienne was a little bit more cautious, but balked at the tiger meat. She had tried to politely refused the server who tried to serve it to her. 

 Throughout the dinner, Sansa had tried to start conversation with Talisa's parents with what High Valyrian she had already mastered. She found out that Talisa has a brother, who had been away on business, and that Talisa's mother had been constantly worrying about her. Her father, on the other hand, had at first disagreed with her decision on wanting to study the medicinal arts, that he would have wanted her to form a match with another noble family that had leanings towards the Elephants to seal their family interests in the freehold. 

 Sansa then realized that a woman's fate would be the same all over the world, no matter if they were from Westeros or from Essos. It was only in Dorne did women could be the masters of her own fate, and in this measure, she had felt herself to be infinitely lucky to have married into Dorne. Oberyn's Sand Snakes were luckier than so many other women, not because they were Oberyn's daughters, but because they were Dornishwomen. They were not seen as the weaker sex, but equals to men. They might have been bastards, but they were still able to forge their own destinies...

* * *

 

 When dinner had ended, Sansa and Oberyn were led to the rooms already prepared him for them. It was because the elephant-handlers and the guards could not remain on the other side of the Black Walls past sundown. They would have to stay the night so that they could be transported back onto the  _Evening Star_  in the morning. They had been granted too much of an honor by even being in that side of the Black Walls, they could not overstay their welcome. 

 Due to the humidity of the Volantene air, they had decided to omit clothing, doing aught else but simply being in each other's arms. Sansa had fallen into her Northern, brooding moods. Her husband could easily see that the subject of the Silver Queen in Slaver's Bay had piqued much of her interest. 

 "You have been silent since dinner, Sansa," Oberyn noticed. "Is anything wrong, my love?"

 "If Daenerys Targaryen wishes to end slavery, will she come for Volantis as well?" she asked Oberyn. "Can her might withstand such... systemic difficulties?" She knew that dragons were not an end-all problem. They were only a part of a solution, and she had doubts as to whether the Targaryen girl could actually have the ability to destroy such a deep-rooted part of the culture and civilization of Essos just by force. Just like how even Aegon the Conquerer had to convert to the Faith of the Seven when he had the Seven Kingdoms bend the knee to him, there  _must_  be a tipping point where Daenerys must have found that she would be unable to advance. 

 

 "Her dragons are yet too small to be ridden in war," Oberyn said. Legends had told that dragons never stopped growing, and that Balerion the Black Dread, ridden by Aegon the Conquerer had outlived his former rider by a hundred years. The last reports had said that they were little more than the size of small dogs, although they were growing each year. "She must wait, and learn to hone her skills before she can cross the Narrow Sea." 

 In all truth, Daenerys Targaryen a girl slightly older than Sansa. She had experienced loss, though. She had miscarried, and sacrificed the life of her husband for the life of her three dragons. With only a handful of Dothraki to form her tiny little khalasar, she had managed to raid one of the greats of the Qartheen merchants, plunder his gold, bought a ship with said gold and set out to Slaver's Bay, leaving a trail of destruction wherever she went. She was shown violence, and she would return violence. But what would happen when the violence would one day end? 

 Sansa sighed. So this was the reason for the stalemate between all forces now, everyone was biding their time. Robb and Tywin were waiting each other out, a challenge for one another's patience. It was a time to recover, to recuperate from the opening salvos of the war, to prepare for winter. 

 "Something tells me that this stalemate would end soon," Sansa said to Oberyn. "When we get back to Westeros... something  _will_  happen that would tip the scales, and I don't know in whose favor. There is a shadow in my mind that has been growing..."

 "Let the storm come," Oberyn said. "We will face it together, you and I, and Ellaria as well." 

 "What if we can't face it together?" she asked, ever the pragmatist. She once believed in tales and songs, but no more. She could only believe in concrete solutions now, although the future sometimes scared her. 

 Oberyn quickly gathered his young wife in his arms. "I will do  _everything_  I can to be by your side should that they come," he told her. "Remember what Doran said of our marriage, Sansa? We are not here simply because of politics, but by some grand design that we are ourselves are not aware of. If we were  _meant_  to cross paths, then surely, we are  _meant_  to share a future together." 

 A small tear fell from Sansa's eyes at his words. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I'm just being horribly stupid..." 

 Oberyn brought her head into the crook of his neck, combing his fingers through her long, red hair. "My beautiful Sansa, you must not let fear and uncertainty rule you. If you do not believe in fate, then you must place your belief in  _us_ : your brother, yourself and I, and even perhaps that Targaryen girl hundreds of miles away from us now. Each and every one of us have our own goals, and this alliance exists for the reason that they are intertwined. There is nothing else that either of us can do, but to play our own parts. Listen to your heart, my love, and your mind would decide, what is the best course for you to tread. If ours differ, then I will swim through every sea, and cross every mountain to at least hold you like this once again." 

 He could not deny that there was a possibility of such a thing happening. Ellaria had warned him of it, that Sansa was given to them because they could give her what she needed to grow strong. Once she was sure of herself, she might or might not stay with them, and they would have to accept it. He had already made peace with that eventuality, but he did not enforce that she should do the same as well. Time. She needed time. 

 Sansa had sobbed again, too touched by her husband's words. She knew that she was the luckiest woman in the world, to have Oberyn. He kissed her tears away, whispering sweet nothings in her ear until she had fallen asleep, hoping that when she woke, her heart would be lighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think about Sansa's... thoughts? What WOULD happen when they get back home?
> 
> I wonder if this is all we'll see of Volantis. 
> 
> Enjoy!


	33. New Plans

Daenerys was looking at a couple. They were in a room that was ornately decorated, and by how it had been built, she guessed that it was Volantis, where she had lived briefly in her younger days. She had not seen the male before, but she knew that she had seen the female. Her hair was red like fire, her eyes blue like the sky. This was the girl that she had drawn absently before, one that she was sure Rhaegal had somehow seen before. Sansa Stark. It would mean that the male must be her husband, the Red Viper, Oberyn Martell. 

 Ser Barristan had told her that Oberyn Martell was many years older than Sansa, in all actuality, he seemed to be older than Drogo when she had married him. But like Drogo, he was a tender lover. She could see it by the way he had caressed her cheek, the way he twirled her hair in his finger. They did not partake in any sexual activities, but had remained in each other's arms, just talking. For whatever reason, she was being uncertain. She could not hear what they were talking about, but she could see into their eyes. There was love, and only love. She remembered what it felt like, when she had laid with Drogo. Just looking at them made her stomach lurch. They were beautiful together, fitting onto each other like a glove. However, she could feel that there was some resistance on Sansa's part. Her brow was slightly furrowed, her expression uncertain. Doubt surrounds her, Daenerys deciphers, and her lover was trying to dispel them. It was not difficult to be so envious of Sansa, for having such a love. 

 For whatever reason, Daenerys continued watching them. She watched them as they lazily rose from their beds, and got more than a close look of their bodies. Oberyn Martell was the perfect, sculpted warrior, of which she was used to see with the men of her khalasar often being similarly built, only of slightly lighter skin, but Sansa. She had never seen anyone so fair, having hair so red. She heaved a sigh of relief, when she thought the size of her own breasts were larger, although she did not know why such a comparison was necessary. Power. Sansa Stark exuded power, and she knew it. 

 She looked on until their eyes met. It was as though Sansa knew that she was looking at her. Daenerys could have sworn that Sansa had nodded towards her... 

 When Daenerys blinked, she was in her tent again. Rhaegal was sitting next to her, silent and still, as if he had been the one giving her that vision. "What do you have to do with Sansa Stark, little one?" Rhaegal shrugged, tilting his head to a side. Nevertheless, Daenerys sighed and scratched the underside of his chin. How could she refuse such an adorable gesture? 

* * *

 

 "She was... there," Sansa told Oberyn once they were back onboard the  _Evening Star_. "I could have sworn that she was... spying on us." Her mission in Volantis acting as Robb's ambassador was a great success, and judging by the Volantene ships that were closely behind their ship, Robb would be absolutely pleased with the results. 

 "But she is making her way to Mereen," Oberyn reasoned. "Targaryens are many things, my love, but not Greenseers." 

 Sansa sighed. "I know, but for whatever reason, I  _felt_  her," she said. "I've not even met her yet but still..." 

 "Perhaps,  _you_  are the intended soulmate to the Silver Queen," Oberyn teased. "Poor Ellaria and I will have to slink back when you leave us for her..." 

 "That's not funny," Sansa returned with a slight pout, bristled by his teasing. "It really isn't." 

 Oberyn chuckled. "Alright, alright," he said, giving up on his plot to rile his wife. "The Targaryens weren't Greenseers like you, but they often had Dragon-dreams. Rhaegar thought he had them, and perhaps, they would be similar to Greenseeing?" However, it did not explain why there was this... bond between Daenerys and Sansa that has gone beyond mere contact. They were not only able to see one another, but they were able to  _feel_  one another. There was no text, no scroll in the Citadel that could accurately describe such a thing. 

 "No one would have ever believed me," Sansa said. "But don't you think it's funny? Magic disappeared when the dragons were gone, and now, when they're back, magic's came back..." 

 "Well, you won't be wrong," Oberyn said. "The dragonlords of Valyria were not only warriors and enterprising slave-owners, they were sorcerers. Everything with their name had something to do with something magical or mystical. That is why so many secrets that only they had were lost after the Doom of Valyria. It would seem that during the time when they did rule the Freehold, the Children of the Forest still remained in some parts of our world, imparting their knowledge to your ancestors. But... that was all they could teach us back in the Citadel. I cannot tell you more than what I already know about it." 

 Oberyn had rarely told her of his days at the Citadel. He often said that they bored him, which was why he found that being a Maester was not his calling at all, but there was nothing more. "What chains did you forge, Oberyn?" she asked him, out of pure curiosity. 

 "Silver for medicine and healing, lead for poison, gold for economics and copper for history," Oberyn answered. "Learning all that... bored me, really. It would bore you too, my love. Those in the Citadel spend hours upon hours listening to old men at their lecterns, speaking about the subjects of their expertise, memorizing every bit of information you could take from dusty scrolls. To forge a link, you must first go through an enormous amount of tests that they will mark with red ink, over and over... It was hell for me." He did not expect for his wife to giggle, though. "What's so funny?" he asked. 

 "You must have a short attention span then," she quipped. Her husband was a well-known warrior and infamous seducer of men and women. If he had decided that he would resume his old occupation as a sellsword, or perhaps he would whore himself out, she had all the confidence that he would be richer than the Tyrells if he would so apply himself. "You're not the studious kind, aren't you?"

 "Did you take  _that_  long to notice?" he asked her sarcastically. "It was a wonder that I could actually manage to stay in the Maester's schoolroom as a child." He had her right where he wanted her, at the bow of the ship, his arms so cleverly snaked right on her bustline. "However, I do have other talents..." 

 Sansa nodded. "I am aware of them," she replied, not needing any thought to pick up his meaning. She could already feel his arousal, brushing her back ever so slightly. "However, you'll have to wait," she told him. 

 "Wait?" Oberyn sulked. He had never recalled Sansa asking him to wait before. Not after such an overt attempt in seducing her. She was usually receptive to him, and would easily melt into his arms without any effort.

 "It's... that time of the month," Sansa replied, moving Oberyn's warm hands to her womb, hoping that he could feel how the incessant, dull pain there that would not stop until she felt as if she had been bled dry. During this time of flowering, she would wear a special cloth over her womanhood to catch the blood and whatever else that would emerge from her womb. That cloth would be tied to her hips to secure it in place, and washed frequently. 

 It was strange to him, to have her so docile during this time. Ellaria was a fiery woman, and during the time of flowering, she would be even more fiery. He would always be on his toes, for the slightest misstep could mean provocation. When he had Sansa about that, she only rolled her eyes and groaned. "I'm just so... drained throughout the ordeal," she explained. "And I'm afraid to sit for too long, or else everything would just..." 

 "Come gushing down?" he helped her to finish her sentence, noting her expression of surprise. "You forget that I am a father of eight daughters, Sansa." He particularly remembered that Elia's flowerings were the worst for her initially. She would bleed through her dresses sheets that she would lock herself in her room and sit on her chamberpot naked when she could no longer bother to change. 

 "I love you," she proclaimed, turning her face towards him so that she could kiss him. Those three words had meant a lot of things in that moment, but relief was the chiefest of them. Her first flowering had been particularly trying for her, for the Hound had chanced upon the bloodied bed and had no choice but to report it to Cersei. It marked her as a woman, as a woman that  _could_  already be bedded... She had lived in fear for being accosted by either Joffrey or anyone else after that. It was why she had never thought of her monthly flowering as a particularly... pleasant experience. 

 Oberyn returned her kiss, deepening it as time passed. "And I you," he replied. There were no other words that needed to be said between them. 

* * *

 Robb looked at the pieces of parchment in his hands. Both came from Castle Black. The first was a formal plea. Maester Aemon of the Night's Watch had asked for reinforcements, that a wildling army was making its way towards the Wall. The Night's Watch could not possibly defend the Wall with the hundred thousand wildlings that Mance Rayder had summoned under his hypothetical banners. They needed more men. The other, was an informal one. Jon Stark (Robb was surprised that ravens about Jon's legitimization actually reached Castle Black at all) had returned to Castle Black after a range with Lord Commander Jeor Mormont. However, he was the only survivor of that mission and was kept under lock and key, for it was suspected that he had turned his cloak. However, the good Maester had added a personal footnote that Jon was actually  _sent_  into the wildling army to act as a spy. 

 "What are you going to do?" Talisa asked him with practiced ease. 

 "The Wall is the last defense we have against the wildlings," Robb said. "If they get through the Wall, there would be no hope for Westeros." 

 Catelyn looked at her son. He looked just like Ned when he was perplexed and she already knew her son's decision before he would make it. However, she also knew his dilemma. If he left the Westerlands and the Riverlands, it would mean that the dominance that he had fought to keep over Tywin Lannister would have been for naught. The months that they had spent in Casterly Rock would have gone to waste if Tywin Lannister was able to return to his homelands after they had left. 

 "The weather's turning," the Blackfish added. "If winter sets hold when we're done at the Wall, the Northern lords wouldn't want to go back down South to meet the Targaryen princess." 

 Robb nodded somberly. He had withheld going back to Winterfell, to regroup for almost a year for this sole reason. They have been fighting away from home for too long. They were Northerners in the south, and they had missed their families. Unless he would  _move_  the North into the Riverlands and the Westerlands, there was little that he could do. 

 "What about Jon?" Arya asked her brother. "Aren't we going to save him?"

 "Jon's a brother of the Night's Watch," Robb said. "His fate is in their hands." The Night's Watch were sovereign over their own. If Jon had somehow escaped them, he would have to execute him even if Jon was his heir. He knew that there was no other way. 

 "How are you going back up North?" Edmure asked. "The Wall is thousands of leagues away from us by land and if we go by sea, we have the Iron Islanders to deal with..." Balon Greyjoy and his Iron Fleet would be difficult to deal with if they were engaged by sea. For all the talent and men that he had, Robb was short of ships. The fastest way to the North would be by sea, but he was sure that the Iron Islanders would not give them easy passage home. He knew that he could not try to enter the North by the eastern coast as well. Stannis Baratheon was still licking his wounds in Dragonstone, and now that he was no longer supporting Stannis' claim for the Iron Throne, there was no reason to ever meet him. No, their course would take them to the Sunset Sea and land at Deepwood Motte. From there, he would deposit his family at Winterfell and he would march onwards to the Wall. At least, that was the plan that he had suddenly come up with...

 "Take the Lannister ships," Theon said, bringing Robb back to the conversation at hand. "Take every fighting vessel at Lannisport and crush them." In another time, he would have balked at such suggestion, to mount an attack on his own birthplace. 

 Robb shook his head. "Even if we had those ships, we wouldn't be able to use them," he said. His words had meant that if he was going back up North at all, he would be using the sea. "We  _need_  people who know these waters, and how the Iron Islanders fight in their own territories..." 

 Realization dawned upon him when he looked out the window, directly at Lannisport. "Theon, get Captain and Lieutenant Sand. The three of you are to assemble  _all_   the lords at the high noon three days from now. I want all of them there, no exceptions," he told Theon, who nodded and raced out of the chamber immediately to summon Obara and Nymeria. 

 "Robb, what's going on?" Catelyn asked her oldest son. She did not like that look on his face. Every time he looked like that, he had some harebrained idea that could possibly have them all killed. 

 "We're  _not_  going to man all those ships at Lannisport," he said. "But someone else will. No other lords  _hate_  them more than the lords of the Westerlands." 

* * *

 On the third day, an assembly of lord from the North, the Westerlands and the Riverlands had convened at the town square. All of the lords were seated in a large, covered pavilion, row upon row. They sat where there was space. There was nothing to differentiate themselves from one another save for their own arms and banners. Robb and his family as well as his inner circle were positioned outside the pavilion, under the sun. He, Theon, Edmure Tully and the Blackfish stood while Arya, Catelyn and Talisa were given chairs, flanked by Nymeria and Obara. 

 "My lords, I imagine that you would have already received a raven from Castle Black, written by Maester Aemon himself," Robb said. "Wildlings are advancing through their lands and to ours. They would reach the Wall and attack it. If the Wall is breached, all of Westeros would fall to the wildling armies." 

 "So you would have us march to the Wall and fight them there?" Ser Kevan Lannister asked Robb. "We are in war ourselves, King Robb. You have taken all of us in the Westerlands hostage, have you not?" 

 "I have, Ser Kevan," Robb replied. "Have I not been a kind guest though?" he asked in return. "We grow our own food, we help the smallfolk wherever we can..." 

 "Yes, and you have used our gold to rearm your men," Ser Kevan returned with some amount of bile. "Should we thank you for not eating us as well?"

 Robb was silent, looking at him directly in the eye. In the absence of Tywin Lannister, Ser Kevan would be the head of the Lannister family there at Casterly Rock. There were precise instructions not to give the old man a hard time. Robb was not Oberyn, he did not have charm or charisma, although he tried to develop some. He knew that if he was to level the playing field, he would have to use talents of his own. "Ser Kevan, my men dine on what we have bought from your markets, not your men," he replied truthfully. Those were plain words, but they were the truth. He had completely bypassed Ser Kevan's first complaint, hoping that no one would notice. "But I return to my first question. Have all of you received word that the Wall needs assistance?"

 "What do you want to do about it, Your Grace?" a lord from the Riverlands asked. 

 "Well, I have a proposition for the lords of the Westerlands," he said, eying them all. "If you would agree to what I am about to propose, we will bring  _all_  our forces back to the North. The Riverlords will go back to the Riverlands and so on." 

 There was silence everywhere. The lords of the Westerlands looked towards one another and Sandor Clegane furrowed his brow. Was he a northern lord now, or was he one of those fools? Since Robb was the one who gave him his Letters Patent, it had made things... quite complicated. However, he knew that wherever Robb went, he had to be, so, maybe he would be a new lord of a new keep in the North then, or was he?

 "What do you want of us?" Ser Kevan asked Robb. 

 "I'll need you to empty all your warships at Lannisport and direct them to the Iron Islands. You don't like them, you hate the Iron Islanders. They've raided your ships for long enough, and it's time to put at end to them once and for all," Robb answered plainly. "Gather your allies from the Arbor at the Reach for all I care." 

 "And what would you do after that?" Ser Kevan pressed on. "Take us off  _our ships_  and make for the North on them?"

 "I will have my own ships," he said in full confidence. 

 "The North does not have any ships," a random lord exclaimed. "What are you going to do, swim up the Sunset Sea?"

 Robb looked towards Talisa with a wide smile, and his queen chuckled openly, causing Catelyn and Arya to look at each other in utter alarm. They did not know what Robb was planning at all, nor did they expect that Talisa had any part of it. 

 Horns were heard, horns coming from the sea, their sounds being carried by the wind up to Casterly Rock. One by one, the lords left the pavilion to look for the source of their sounds. Lo and behold, they saw ships bearing Volantene colors right before their eyes. There were about 120 war galleys, armed to the teeth, surrounded by various other vessels. Volantis had answered the call of the North. 

 Robb was smirking from ear to ear, while even Theon looked overwhelmed. It was only did then Catelyn realize the working of his mind. Robb appointed Sansa as his ambassador so she could bring a message to Talisa's grandfather, a message to ask for Volantene ships. It was a gamble that had paid off well, and the fact that the Night's Watch had asked for their help only added to Robb's resolve to return to the North. 

 "So you see, my lords, I won't have any use of your fleets," Robb told the lords of the Westerlands. "I have my own." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww, did you all think that Robb will be staying at Casterly Rock for long? The Starks are going back up North, baby!
> 
> Whoever thought that the discussing that time of the month would be so... romantic. Trust me, if you are a girl, you'd understand. 
> 
> I wonder what would happen when Dany and Sansa meet... 
> 
> Enjoy!


	34. Princess

 Theon had stayed on the Volantene flagship, the  _Jeweled Phoenix_  when the Lannister fleet plowed through the Iron Fleet. Their longboats were fast, and well-manned, but they were no match for the sheer number, desperation and fury of the ships of the Westerlands and the Arbor. They were swallowed utterly and he felt a twinge of guilt for not feeling... anything. Those upon the longboats were his kin, but he knew not their faces. He had been taken from the Iron Isles since he was a child. He knew them not. 

 "You don't have to look, you know," Robb told him as he came up next to him. "I know that it's hard on you." 

 "You know what happened at the Dreadfort?" Theon asked Robb. "I was locked in a cage with the dogs and my sister, Yara, came to save me. I was so beaten and so afraid that I didn't dare to go, and they left me behind. After they left, Ramsay Snow got me don my old armor and go to Moat Cailin, where the rest of the Ironborn were. He flayed and slaughtered every one there..." 

 Robb squeezed Theon's shoulder. "I shouldn't have sent you back to your father," he told Theon. They were good friends, brothers in arms, and now Theon had to watch his homeland being decimated, in vengeance for what they had done for the North and the Westerlands over the generations. He would not have known that Balon Greyjoy would force Theon to turn his back against Winterfell. No one could have known that Roose Bolton was plotting the downfall of House Stark with the Freys. 

 "Nothing can save them now," Theon said, listening to the cries of his kinsmen. "My father got what he deserved. He should have given up after the first time he rebelled." 

 In another corner of the ship, Talisa put her hand to her growing belly and sighed. "So much carnage has been dealt by land and now by sea," she said to her sister-in-law, Arya. Her grandfather's right-hand, Khazdan was next to her, prepared to defend her in any eventuality. He was also to act as the commander of the Volantene forces, so as to protect Volantene interests in the North. "Do you not wish for one day where it all ends?"

 Arya shrugged. "The Ironmen took Winterfell and burned it to the ground, they drove my brothers north of the Wall. They deserve it," she said. There wasn't any fury in her words, unlike that found in several of the Northern lords. She had spoken as though she had stated mere facts. She was playing with a coin in her hand, a coin that Talisa knew to be Braavosi in origin. When Arya noticed that she saw the coin, she said, "I met a Faceless Man who helped me escape Harrenhall, and he gave me this coin should I want to learn what he can do." 

 "The Faceless Men are devotees to the Many-Faced-God," Talisa nodded. "They say that their god is the God that everyone prays to, however different their religions. He is the God of Death in countless cultures and so forth. A Faceless Man is incredibly hard to find, sister. You are incredibly lucky to have called one a friend, and to have been offered apprenticeship... it would be a hard road even for the stoutest of hearts." 

 "I wanted to go with him," Arya said. "But I know I couldn't." She looked towards Robb and Catelyn, and then back at the coin. "My place is with my family, and I'll do everything to get back at the people who tore us apart. I really would." Robb had told her that Roose Bolton would have had them all killed if they had gone to offer their uncle Edmure to the Freys instead. It was a plot that was luckily deterred by Robb's alliance with the Martells. She could not imagine how she would have been if she knew that her family was murdered. She could not imagine the pain and the grief should it actually happen. 

 Talisa smiled. "Keep that coin with you, though," she said. "It might come useful in the future, but... it would be wise that your mother doesn't know of it as of yet." Arya understood her words, and nodded. In a way, she was relieved that both of her sisters-in-law had taken to her so kindly. Robb once mentioned that Arya and Sansa often fought with each other, but it would not seem the case now. "You will find your place in this world, Arya, don't worry." She gently held Arya's shoulders as the  _Jeweled Phoenix_  sailed pass the burning remains of the Iron Fleet. 

 "I bid you farewell, Ser Kevan!" Robb called towards the Lannister flagship, aptly named the  _Lion of the Seas_. "May you and yours be well!" 

 "I say the same to you, King Robb!" Ser Kevan replied from his ship. "May you return to Winterfell and never come back south!" 

 Robb nodded curtly and turned back towards his mother, wife and sister. "So that's it, we're heading home." 

* * *

 "The Starks and their bannermen have sailed north, my lord," Varys reported to Tywin in his office. "They have left Casterly Rock for good, as it seems." 

 Tywin dropped his quill. "Sailed north?" he repeated. 

 "He seems to want to answer the raven sent from Castle Black," Varys said. "The North is very sympathetic to the cause of the Night's Watch, and such a tradition would not die with Robb Stark, now that he has regained his hold over the North, and now that the Twins now belong to Lord Jon Umber, who is well-armed to withstand  _years_  of siege." 

 Tywin rolled his eyes. "Yes, as my brother Kevan as reported, he has rearmed and resupplied his men with Lannister gold," he said. "No doubt that he has used  _our_  ships to sail north." 

 "No, I'm afraid not, Lord Tywin," Varys said. "The Lannister fleet sailed against the Iron Islands, but they returned to Lannisport after they had sacked and pillaged their fill. Balon and Victarion Greyjoy are your brother's prisoners, and the fleet is intact." 

 "Then how did Robb Stark sail?" Tywin demanded. "He couldn't have conjured a fleet by snapping his fingers, could he?"

 Varys took a deep breath and continued. "No, he didn't," he said. "However, the Volantene fleet was spotted at Lannisport, bearing the colors of Triach Maegyr. It would seem that Robb Stark's Queen, Talisa, is the Triach's granddaughter..." 

 "You said that Robb's wife was a girl from Volantis," Tywin said, eying Varys sternly. "How could your little birds miss the fact that she was near royalty?" 

 "My apologies, my lord, but they spotted her moving from battlefield to battlefield as a healer," he said. "Such action is unheard of among ladies, much less, near-royalty among Volantene standards. No one could have known that she was a noblewoman." 

 "Yet, she can command her grandfather's fleet at will, it would seem," Tywin said. "What of the Riverlords, did they go with their new king?"

 Varys shook his head. "No, they returned to their keeps," he said. "They await further orders from Robb Stark." 

 With Robb Stark going back up North, it would have seemed that it would be an opportune moment to retaliate upon the Riverlands, but Tywin knew better than that. Robb had reorganized the ranks of his kingdoms. Some Northern lords were given castles in the Riverlands and some Riverlords were given castles in the North. It was so that no matter where he went, he would have eyes and ears on his territories, and his men were well-armed to defend the positions he had left them to.

 

 "Should we thank Robb Stark for having Kevan get rid of the Ironmen?" Tywin grumbled.

 "No, my lord," Varys replied. "However, it is rather... surprising, is it not? The boy is young, and inexperienced, but he controls the North and the Riverlands, and has occupied the Westerlands for months. He then throws it all away to head to the Wall. Don't you wonder what is going through his mind at times?"

 "The boy is a fool to leave Casterly Rock," Tywin said. Although Robb Stark had pilfered Lannister gold for his own uses, it was not the worst damage that he had done there. The worst was how he had seen it fit to grow fast-growing crops alongside the smallfolk, and helping them store the harvested crops for winter. He had bought what he needed from the smallfolk, and used his own provisions. It was not only the "right" thing to do, it was the smart thing. The smallfolk now had the taste of an independent, seemingly benevolent lord. Whatever the Lannisters did would now seem different to their eyes, and they could have won the scorn of the smallfolk if they did anything that the Starks did not do for them. 

 It would seem that Robb Stark's simple form of warfare, to capture the hearts of his men and those around him was the most brutal form ever. 

 "Yes, my lord," Varys said. "If he cannot come back south before the weather turns, he would be stuck in the North under all that snow. None of the Northern lords would ever follow him down here even if he _could_  march." 

 "Let's hope that the Wildlings do him in then," Tywin said. "Then we'll have one less king to contend with." 

* * *

  Sansa and Oberyn's return to Dorne coincided with her formal presentation as a new Dornish princess. So, instead of Planky Town, the  _Evening Star_  weighed anchor at Sunspear. Sunspear was the administrative capital of Dorne, where the main palace of the Martells was built. They had been prepared for it, and Sansa had worn a gown suited for the occasion. It was the color of wine, a dark red that was cooler that of her hair, the neckline plunging with a wide, gold-plated belt with white gems. Instead of shoes, she wore leather sandals that wound up her shins, and her hair coaxed into braids that made her feel like a Dothraki khaleesi instead of a Dornish princess. Oberyn was dressed colors that mirrored hers, of yellow-gold and shining, red embroidery. He was a paragon of Dornish style, from his long tunics, his undershirt kept purposely unbuttoned to reveal his sculpted chest and that silver chain and pendant upon his chest, down to his ceremonial dagger and snake-tongued boots. 

 The people were calling her name, waving tiny flags made of small sticks and paper, in the colors of Houses Martell and Stark. They were cheering for her and Oberyn. Sansa knew that Oberyn was well-loved enough by the Dornishmen, but she did not know the scale of it altogether. "See, they love you already," Oberyn whispered into her ear. It was Sansa's first public appearance in Dorne, as Princess Sansa Stark of House Martell, and it was quite an irony because she had just completed her first official duty in such a capacity in Volantis. 

 

 She regarded them nervously. She has had experience in crowds, but she had not have so much attention upon her. She had survived a riot, she had been in two different coronations and a royal wedding and two royal funerals... She had never had the eyes of the public upon her before. Gulping, she took Oberyn's hand when he offered it, and walked down the gangplank with him. Brienne stood behind them, in ceremonial Dornish armor, looking as out of place as Sansa was. 

 There was a carriage waiting for them at the bottom of the gangplank, and they entered the carriage, which took them through the one-mile long distance between the Castle Sunspear and the docks. Throughout the journey, there were rows and rows of people cheering for her and Oberyn. Sansa felt a huge weight upon her shoulders. She had done  _nothing_  to earn their love, and she knew that she would have to do everything to keep their love. With Doran's wife, Mellario of Novros returned to her homeland,  _she_  was the Princess of Dorne. Sansa's head was swimming. 

 Surely, Oberyn would have already noticed what kind of notion that had settled into her head. "Take a deep breath, and try to relax," Oberyn said with a smile. "Sansa, this is only the beginning." 

 Sansa looked paler than she ever had been. "I will try," she replied. Such a reaction had come from her Northern upbringing. The North ruled in fairness, and it ruled in relative equality. Sansa's first reaction to meeting his people was her concern on how to continue to making them happy, a quality that would have most certainly been absent in other ladies. It had been Robb's first instinct as well the moment he had taken Casterly Rock. Oberyn remembered that the remaining Lannisters there were treated with utmost courtesy, and the smallfolk in the Westerlands given proper protection. The Starks knew how to rule, and they ruled with the heart. That was why he was sure that Sansa would have been an excellent princess for his people. 

 By the time their carriage stopped, Sansa had already started to smile. She was already developing another mask. It would be the mask that she would wear for her husband's people, perhaps for her own if she would return to the North one day. It was a mask only a princess would have, one of beauty and serenity and was the one that she would wear in public. With Oberyn, she turned towards the people and waved back. Hand in hand, she and Oberyn walked up the stairs that would lead them to their family. Doran right there, in his chair, his legs covered with a blanket to hid his gout-riddled legs from view. Doran was flanked by the rest of the family, Ellaria and the Sand Snakes to his left, Trystane and Princess Myrcella to his right. 

 Sansa was greeted warmly by her stepdaughters. The younger ones had missed their schoolmate and the older ones their sparring partner. Ellaria had gave her a sweet, tender kiss and Doran held her hands warmly. "Welcome home, sister," Doran said to her, kissing her cheeks and she did him. "Was your trip to Volantis productive?"

 "It was, brother," Sansa answered. "The sights and sounds... the Long Bridge and the Black Walls, they are all wonders of the world." 

 Doran listened to her words and chuckled. "Indeed," he returned. "Perhaps one day, you and Oberyn should visit the Great Pyramid of Mereen." 

 After a few more waves and smiles, the Martells retreated back into Castle Sunspear. Sansa had been there before, but only briefly. They had stayed the night after they departed from King's Landing, and went straight towards the Water Gardens. It was only then did Sansa's second mask fade and Tyene was allowed to at least chuckle at her teasingly. "You should have seen your face, Sansa!" she said, sitting next to Sansa on a chaise. "Are you alright?"

 "I have never experienced such a sight," Sansa replied. 

 "The population of the North is sparse, no?" Trystane offered. "It is no wonder that you are not used to such crowds." 

 Sansa nodded. "Yes indeed, Trystane," she said. "However, I can say that there could be more people in Volantis." 

 "It's beautiful there!" Sarella said. "When we heard that you and Papa were allowed behind the Black Walls, we weren't even allowed to  _touch_  the walls, much less get over it..." The wealth of the Martells and the relative freedom the Sand Snakes had meant that they were perfectly able to travel to the Free Cities. The proximity of Dorne to some of the lands in Essos would not be a deterring factor either. 

 Myrcella threw an envious look towards Sansa. She had been told that Sansa was in Volantis to give gifts on behalf of Robb Stark under Doran's instruction, as a form of goodwill, and was sworn to secrecy about it. "You are so lucky to get to on a tour of the Free Cities, Sansa," she said. "I can't wait until Trystane and I are wedded so we can travel like you and Oberyn." 

 Sansa nodded. "Soon, dear Myrcella," she said. "Volantis isn't going anywhere, though." 

 "How is Triach Maegyr?" Doran asked Sansa. "I heard whispers that he was  _not pleased_  that his granddaughter married a Westerosi lord." They had to be careful when they were around Myrcella. 

 Sansa shook head. "Oh, he wasn't pleased at all," she answered, making a great show of forming a frown to Myrcella. "He says that we Westerosi are barbaric creatures in our clanging armor. Her mother was in tears that she couldn't come home." 

 Myrcella shook her head. "But they're the ones owning slaves, aren't they?" she asked Sansa. "Who are they to call us barbaric?"

 Sansa could only shrug at Myrcella's words. "Cultural differences between Westeros and Essos are rife and prominent," Oberyn said. "But you would be surprised how... similar we actually are. You can't imagine that the Volantenes would pay a great price to for our wines and fruits, and Myr actually buys sand from our deserts to produce their intricate glass." 

 Luckily, Myrcella had relented. "Well, we're always at war," Myrcella said. "Perhaps they're a little right about it. But wouldn't it be strange, speaking for a sister-in-law that you haven't seen before?"

 "It was strange," Sansa said. "I had to tell the Triach that Robb loved her, that she would be happy with him..." 

 "Sometimes we'd have to lie for the greater good," Myrcella summed up. "But I'm glad that you don't have to put up an act like that here." 

 Ellaria discreetly rolled her eyes at the irony of the situation, but Sansa remained smiling prettily to her slightly younger counterpart. A new truth was more and more evident, that having Myrcella there in Dorne was an increased risk if the Stark-Martell alliance was to stand. When Myrcella and the Sand Snakes were excused from the gathering, she said to Sansa, "The little lioness had been very, very curious about your travels." 

 "She's just trying to be friendly," Sansa reassured. "Myrcella doesn't know what her family is capable of. She's been shipped here ever since Joffrey got on the throne..." 

 "And we have been guarding her, giving her cooked meat so the little lioness would never have the taste of blood," Oberyn added. If Myrcella had even made a peep, then Dorne would be at the mercy of King's Landing and the Northern armies would not be able to reach them in time. Their cover would not be blown until Daenerys Targaryen crosses the Narrow Sea. "It is best for us and herself that Myrcella is being kept in the dark with all these things. I fear that the truth would kill her one day." 

 Sansa nodded. Already she was rumored to be a child born of incest, a Lannister bastard instead of a Baratheon princess. There was a very real possibility that the truth  _would_  kill her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strangely enough, we are looking at Arya and Sansa (as well as a tiny bit about Myrcella), which explains the title of the chapter.
> 
> Robb's going North might or might not be a good thing for him. Remember, there's still Stannis to contend with. DUN DUN DUNNNN
> 
> Today's vague pop culture reference is from Kingdom of Heaven. 
> 
> Enjoy!


	35. The North

 They had made sweet, sweet love the moment they had the opportunity to. Ellaria had missed them and she had shown them exactly that. Strangely enough, their chambers in Sunspear was almost exactly the same as theirs in the Water Gardens. There was the large bed (that had to accommodate more than two, of course), wine in a beautiful decanter on the table... Sansa had noted that her husband was a man of habit. Even the wardrobes were in the same place and Sansa wondered if she would find the very same clothes inside it. 

 "So, how was the lady Ambassador's mission in Volantis?" Ellaria asked Sansa after Oberyn had fallen so deeply asleep that he was already snoring lightly, utterly sated. 

 "It was... productive," Sansa answered, playing with Ellaria's dark curls. "We gave Robb a fleet of ships, didn't we?"

 Chuckling, Ellaria rolled her eyes. "Oh, I didn't mean about... work, my love," she corrected herself. "But what you saw and did..." 

 Sansa's eyes widened and she nodded, finally getting Ellaria's meaning. "Well, we... fell upon each other in the middle of the ship in the afternoon," she recounted. "And when we were in Lys, Oberyn brought me to the Red Lotus and... it was interesting." 

 "Did the whores please you as I did you?" Ellaria asked, only to discover that Sansa did not participate in Oberyn's whoring. "You went to the Red Lotus and you did not do anything?"

 Sansa shook her head. "Well, I did help Oberyn choose the whores," she explained. "One of them turned out to be an assassin, so that was... really unfortunate." 

 "But certainly, that whore did not start trying to kill you immediately, no?" Ellaria added. "How many did you select for Oberyn then?"

 "Three," Sansa returned. "Two girls from the Summer Isles and a man. I told him that I would watch him with them, and I did." 

 Ellaria was soon satisfied with her response. "Oh, and did you?" she inquired. Sansa always had a thirst for learning, and although she remembered that Sansa had graciously declined to participate in an orgy they were invited to in King's Landing, Sansa was always eager to learn. 

 "I did," Sansa said. "They did many things before one of the girls tried to kill us..." She could feel her face getting hot as she recalled what had happened. "I... saw every single thing and Oberyn... Oberyn's eye never left mine." She remembered how his eyes had beckoned her towards him, even as the whores, male or female where writhing beside and even over him. She did not know if it was some animalistic urge to show her what she had been missing out on, but she had been so drawn to him, yet something had told her to remain in her seat, to continue watching. "Oh, Ellaria, my heart was racing!" 

 "So you finally do understand now that he might wander, but his eyes are only for you?"

 "I did not imagine it to be so... literal," Sansa replied.

 "Well, it is true," Ellaria continued, giving Sansa a long, reassuring kiss. "Perhaps if you were to have sampled those whores, they would even give you back your gold..." 

 "Now, you're teasing me." 

 "Oh, am I?"

* * *

 

 Talisa remembered telling Robb that she did not even know where Winterfell was. Robb had promptly gotten her a map of Westeros, and showed her that precise location of his homeland. He had also pointed out that the North ran from the western coast of Westeros to the eastern coast, that all lands between the Wall and the Neck. It was so large that it was larger than the other six kingdoms combined. 

 White, snow-capped mountains, emerald woods and vast expanses of land laid before her eyes as she stepped down the gangplank at Deepwood Motte. "Welcome to my home, Your Grace," Lord Galbert Glover said, "If it pleases you, I will have a handmaiden sworn into your service to aid you... at least until you have delivered the babe." The Northern lords knew how strong a woman their Queen was. A Volantene noble that had worked as a humble healer. She was Queen in the North, yet she wore no jewels or rich robes. She would at least be afforded the assistance of a handmaiden. 

 Talisa smiled. "Thank you, Lord Glover," she replied sweetly. She knew that accepting such an offer would mean that she would invest some amount of trust in him, that she would have confidence in him to help her choose a woman that would be her confidant and aide. She also knew that her husband needed all the support that he could get, but having a handmaiden would be a great decision. "I will have to speak with Robb first, though." 

 "By all means, Your Grace," Glover returned with a bow. "Do not hesitate to speak to my wife about it if you have come to a decision." 

 Talisa thanked Glover once more, and walked towards Robb who linked his arm with hers. "So, this is the North," she said to her husband. 

 "Aye, and you are it's Queen," Robb replied. "It will be snowing soon, by the looks of it." 

 "Has winter already come?" Talisa asked. The words of House Stark were "Winter is Coming", but she did not understand... it was now still autumn, was it not? 

 Robb chuckled. "No, but the North is so cold that we'd have summer snows," he explained. "We'll have to get you into more furs if we are to keep you warm." 

 "I've never seen snow before," Talisa admitted, retreating into her shawl a little bit as the sea-breeze picked up. She had grew up by the sea, but she had never experienced something as cold as that before in her life. "What is it like?"

 "Cold and wet," Robb said. There was no passion in his voice when he described it. "When winter was the heaviest, the snow would be dozens of feet high and you wouldn't be able to get anywhere. Long summers mean long winters, and the previous summer had lasted for ten years. It was the longest summer in living memory." 

 "Would winter last as long, then?" Talisa asked. 

 "I can't answer that," Robb replied. "Thousands of years ago, a long winter brought the Long Night and the land was invaded by White Walkers, and all of Westeros suffered greatly. Before my father departed for King' Landing, he executed a deserter from the Night's Watch that claimed to have seen one..."

 "We live in an age where dragons have returned to the world," Talisa noted. "What is to say that they are not real as well?"

 Robb nodded. "That is why we have to come back here," he explained. "The wildlings... have never been organized before. There must be a reason why all of them are marching towards Castle Black. I intend to find out why." His expression was hard and set. There was nothing that could pull Robb away, particularly when he had made a choice. 

 Talisa knew just how much it had pained him to leave Casterly Rock, which was a strategic fortress to hold. They could have comfortably waited for the Targaryen princess and her dragons to cross the Narrow Sea and quickly gathered their armies to King's Landing. It would take too long for them to raise their banners and move south from the North. However, it was also strategically necessary to answer to the needs of the Night's Watch. The Starks had built the Wall, and for many generations, there were Starks that manned the Wall. Her half-brother-in-law, Jon, was on the Wall, fighting for his life, and she knew that Robb would do anything to help him. 

 Since the Lannisters and the Tyrells would never dare to strike at the Riverlands after Robb's campaign in the south, since the Martells, sworn in alliance to the Starks through the marriage of Sansa and Oberyn, have promised to guard their backs should anything happen, there was no reason for Robb not to return to the North, to ensure that the threat from the north of the Wall would not be ignored. He had already lost Winterfell once, and he would not fail his kingdom again.

 Despite the fact that Yara Greyjoy had used Deepwood Motte as a base during the Ironborn occupation of the North, much of it was salvaged. Luckily, Theon's sister had more sense than the average Ironborn and had not vandalized the castle and its surroundings too much, although she had taken much of its food and supplies back to to the Iron Islands with her. Thankfully, Robb had authorized the Mormonts to dispense as much food as they could. With the help of what forces that remained in the North, the Mormonts also took the Dreadfort and Robb had redistributed its lands and assets equally to all the Northern lords, including its food stores. 

 "Thanks to you, Your Grace, we can at least have a good supper," Lord Glover said to Robb during their small, informal homecoming feast. "The King in the North has finally returned to his lands, and things will be right once more." 

 Robb thanked Lord Glover for his kind words. "You are too kind, Lord Glover," he said. "However, things won't be right if the Wall is not defended. If the Wall falls, then all of Westeros would likely fall along with it." 

 Throughout their voyage from Lannisport to Deepwood Motte, Talisa had made it a point to learn as much as she could about the Wall. From what she had gathered, the Wall was raised by Brandon the Builder after the end of the Long Night, either by sheer engineering ingenuity or by magic. It stood for eight thousand years, and was 300 miles long, standing 700 feet high. There were many castles along the Wall, but now, only three were garrisoned: Castle Black in its center, the Shadow Tower in the west and Eastwatch-by-the-Sea on the eastern coast of the North. 

 Talisa had looked at the maps, and realized that there was a vast expense of land even beyond the Wall. Robb told her that there were various human settlements there. They held no kings and honored no laws, they were Wildlings, but liked to call themselves the "Free Folk". Wildlings had been a constant threat, but they had never been organized. Reports had come out of Castle Black that a former Night's Watchman, Mance Rayder, had united the Wildling clans and claimed to be the King-Beyond-the-Wall. His rule had lasted longer than a decade, which made them even more dangerous that their ancestors, for no man was able to command them for so long. 

 It was a wonder to her that the Northern lords were so willing to unite under their King for such a cause. She knew that if they had been in Volantis, and if the Black Walls were the sole defense of the city, she knew that those on the inside would give everything they had to keep everyone out. They would hide within them and try to weather the storm, Tigers or Elephants alike. 

 "Will we be going back to Winterfell, Robb?" Arya asked Robb, bringing Talisa back to reality. 

 "Yes," Robb answered. "Lady Mormont has helped us to to defend Winterfell ever since I sent her up here. We must give them the chance to see their homes before we give aid to the Wall."

 "I want to come with you when you leave for the Wall," Arya added. She had been well-trained by the Sand Snakes, and Robb had often sparred with her as well. Talisa knew that Arya was on her way in becoming a formidable warrior, but she also knew that Robb had no plans for his sister to go with them. She was too young to fight, nor did he have any ability to constantly guard and protect her. 

 "Arya, I need you to stay in Winterfell with Mother and Talisa," Robb replied, much to Arya's dismay. He knew that Arya would not like what she had just heard, but he held his youngest sister by the shoulders and looked at her directly in the eye. "I know that you can protect yourself, which is why I  _need_  you to go back home and protect them. You are no longer just Arya, the youngest Stark daughter. You are  _Princess_  Arya Stark. You will have to defend Winterfell if need be. I will have Uncle Brynden in Winterfell as well, so he can help you as best you can. No one else knows the place better than us, and that is why I want you to be there if anything happens. Your  _responsibility_  is home, Arya. I'll not take 'no' for an answer." 

 Responsibility. In all truth and honesty, Arya had never, ever knew the true meaning of the word in her life. Even after roaming the Riverlands for the better part of a year, Arya had never been entrusted with anything more than her own survival. She had seen so much, done so much and traveled so far, but she had never, ever once held any responsibility. 

 Arya looked towards her mother, and then to Talisa. "Princess, it is an honorable charge, to protect the ones you love, even if it means being left behind," Obara told her. "Our sister, Tyene, is old and able enough to join us here, but Father had her positioned in Dorne for that very reason. Each of us have our duties, and every one of them is different." 

 Sighing, Arya nodded. "Alright, I'll stay in Winterfell," she acquiesced. "But... I won't have to wear dresses if I don't want to, right?"

 Talisa, Nymeria and Obara all broke into little chuckles at her strange request of her brother, who smiled widely at her. "You can do everything you want to do, as long as you keep by your promise and your duties," Robb told her, after giving a firm nod to their mother. It was a sly ploy, really. Arya knew that their mother would do  _everything_  for things to return to normalcy, but wandering through the Riverlands as a boy had rendered her detest for dresses complete. 

 "Your Grace, we have news," said a representative from House Manderly, whose seat was at White Harbor. 

 "Speak," Robb told the Manderly representative. 

 "Stannis Baratheon also has designs to come North," he said. "Much of his fleet had been destroyed during the Battle of Blackwater Bay, but he was sighted in Braavos, trying to negotiate with the Iron Bank for money to pay for sellsails to augment his numbers." 

 Robb frowned. "House Manderly could not have come by such information from White Harbor," he surmised. "Did you receive this information from the Spider or the Martells?"

 The representative bowed his head. "It was the Spider, Your Grace," he answered truthfully. 

 "How many men does he have?" Catelyn asked the representative. 

 "Four thousand of his own, Lady Stark," came the answer. "But he has also contracted a Lyseni sailsail to his ranks..." 

 Robb thanked the representative once his report had been completed. "Tell Lord Manderly to keep a firm eye on the Narrow Sea," he reminded the man. "I want to know Stannis' every move." 

 "Yes, Your Grace," the representative said, and retreated back to the tables. 

 When he had left, Robb buried his head in his hands. "If Stannis Baratheon comes, he will not let the North go unless we bend the knee to him," he surmised. "He knows no mercy, and we will have to fight him after we're done with the Wildlings." The Volantene fleet would leave for Volantis after they had restocked and resupplied. Passage back to the North had been Triach Maegyr's wedding gift to him from Volantis, and they would not endanger their own for the wars in Westeros. 

 Catelyn nodded. "Agreed," she said. "He expects himself to be King of Westeros, and resents us for our claim to independence." She had met with Stannis before Renly was killed by whatever means, she knew that Stannis was unwilling to join forces with either Renly or even Robb, wanting Westeros for himself and only himself. He saw it as his right, being the only legal heir to his late brother, Robert. He sought to return Westeros to what it had been before, to seat order and restore it from the pieces that it had shattered into. His cause had been somewhat noble, but his cause would fail, given the state of things. 

 "Let him come," Robb said. When he had started his campaign, he thought to have supported Stannis' claim, like his father did. However, when it was made known that Stannis did not appreciate the North's independence, Robb knew that he would be just another enemy. It was not his decision to be the King in the North, it was the love and support of the Northern lords that granted him such an office. He would lose their support of he did not accept it. "He does not know the North as we do. Let him come and perhaps help us take out the Wildlings, but he will fail to fell us in our own home." 

 That very night, after the dinner and drinks had been finished, when the women had gone to sleep, Robb and the Northern lords conferred in a great war-council. There, they decided what they should do, the specifics of their campaign against the Wildlings and Stannis Baratheon. 

 Some of the lords were of the opinion that they had time, for Stannis would have to prepare for the long journey from Dragonstone, after just having returned from Braavos. Others said that they should double the defenses of the coast, including White Harbor and Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Robb reconciled both opinions and ordered that men should be sent to the coast, to garrison any defensible position should Stannis land with any intent on taking the North. 

 In the morning, each Northern lord returned to their own keeps. They had made a promise to meet him at Castle Black after two turns of the moon, once they had resupplied and been with their families. It was a small gesture of thanks he had given to them, knowing that two months was precious time in a war when their enemies were closing in around them. He knew that it was time that they had needed, for their nigh two years by his side. 

 In two months, they would march towards the Wall and they would defend it with their lives if need be. If Robb could pull this stunt off, he knew that his claim over the North would be stronger than ever. He already knew from experience that a King needed not only the support of his bannermen, but also the smallfolk. If he was able to stop the Wildlings from climbing over the Wall to pillage and burn, he  _knew_  that there would be unequivocal support for him. It was only then would the North's claim to independence stand against anyone who did claim the Iron Throne, be it Stannis Baratheon or Daenerys Targaryen.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooo, things are heating up in the icy North, no?
> 
> I like to think that Robb is actually, very, very good in capturing the hearts of his people, for the sole reason that he values justice and honor. He might have been useless at politics in canon (book or TV), but I believe that he would have gained some political acumen if he actually did survive for longer. Besides, he has Talisa, who did have SOME experience dealing with other nobles from her years in Volantis, heh heh. 
> 
> Arya's path is also very different. She might not be a Faceless Man/Woman now, but, trust me, she will find a way to get what she wants, hopefully. 
> 
> Enjoy!


	36. Direwolves

 It was deep in the night when Sansa had felt a familiar presence, but one that she could not name. She did not understand it. There was something out there that was calling for her, asking her to meet it, or them. She tried to will herself to see it, through her gift of the Greensight, but she was unable to see anything. All she saw were the stars and the desert before Sunspear, and the sea beside it. 

 "Sansa?" Oberyn asked her, waking after she had risen from their bed. "Sansa, where are you going?"

 "Something... someone is calling me," Sansa told him. "I can't explain it but..." 

 "I will come with you," Oberyn said, immediately getting dressed. They had thrown on simple clothes, but Oberyn had taken his spear with him and Sansa her dagger. They went to the stables together, and went into a steady gallop upon Oberyn's favorite horse. He took the reins while Sansa held the torch. They had no heading, and rode according to where Sansa felt that the presence was. "It is quite romantic, no? A midnight ride, the two of us, under the stars..." 

 Sansa gave him a half-smile and placed a kiss on his shoulder. "Whatever it was, it knew me..." she said, trying to keep her mind clear and her heart calm. It was still calling her. She still could not see anything, only the stars. Yet, she knew that they were getting close. The call was now louder in her mind, the presence stronger. 

 Just then, Oberyn's horse reared and whinnied. Before them were two pairs of eyes. One yellow, and the other, dark gold. "Wolves?" Oberyn asked, by the sounds of their snarling. There were no wolves in Dorne, not to his knowledge. If they were wolves, then they were certainly considerably larger than others of their kind. Sansa put the torch forwards and gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. "Sansa? What is the matter?" Without a moment's hesitation, Sansa leaped off the horse and pressed the torch into Oberyn's hand. She ignored him calling out towards her, but walked towards the wolves. By the light of the torch, Oberyn could see that the wolves were so large that they already reached the shoulders of his horse. It was only then did he realize that these were _direwolves_ , the kin of Robb's Grey Wind. 

 "Lady!" Sansa had called towards the one with yellow eyes. "I can't believe it... I can't believe that you're alive!" It licked her face and nuzzled at Sansa, while the one with gold eyes watched. "Nymeria, come here!" The second direwolf heeded her and went on to replicate Lady's behavior. 

 "They are your direwolves, my love?" Oberyn asked Sansa after both direwolves had settled down. He approached them with uttermost caution, and he understood that they were examining him. Lady had watched him intently, while Nymeria growled when he carefully made his way to Sansa's side. It was an extraordinary experience, and when Lady had surmised that he was no threat to Sansa, she nuzzled his hand so that he would pet her head. It was that gesture that stopped the other direwolf from pouncing at Oberyn and ripping his arm off. 

 Sansa nodded. "Lady is mine, and Nymeria is Arya's," she answered. "But I don't understand... Father... Father was forced by Cersei to execute Lady... She shouldn't be alive..." Tears of joy welled in her eyes, to see Lady fully-grown, as large as Grey Wind was, although she had been as tiny as Ghost had been. "Arya... looked up to your ancestor a lot, so..." 

 "And now, the human Nymeria serves Robb in the North and the direwolf comes to you," Oberyn said. "It is a miracle that they came here all this way, looking for you." 

 "I'll never let them out of my sight again," she vowed, hugging the two direwolves, who were already giving Oberyn friendly licks. "They seem to like you." 

 "They know that I will never harm you," Oberyn explained, looking deep into the direwolves' eyes, and back at Sansa. "Come, my love, it is late in the night and our bed beckons us." 

 Sansa took his outstretched hand and got back onto the horse with his help. Without needing any instruction, Lady and Nymeria followed them, keeping a safe distance away from the horse, which was still unused to their presence. Oberyn remembered in the battle for Casterly Rock, Grey Wind fought beside Robb as though it had been an extension of the King in the North. It was intuitive and was intelligent enough to defend its master if need be. 

 However, he did have a concern. These two direwolves, one allowed to roam in the wilds, and the other, thought to be dead, could they ever be socialized to live among humans? Sansa might have been able to guide them, but what if she was not there to constantly be by their side? 

 "Let me be with them for the night," Sansa offered when they returned to the castle. "I need to know what happened to them..." 

 "Did you allow them in your bedroom when you were in Winterfell?" Oberyn asked his wife, but was not surprised when she gave him an affirmative nod. The Stark direwolves were found when they were newborn pups, and were hand-trained by their owners themselves. They would always sleep by the foot of the beds of their owners, all six of them. "You do know that Ellaria would scream her head off once she sees them."

  Sansa giggled, and the direwolves offered a friendly yelp. "Mother was... apprehensive of them when they first came home too, but she trusts them well enough." 

* * *

 Sansa did not sleep when they returned to their chambers. The direwolves took their usual place by the bed, as if they had never even left Winterfell, and she sat on the floor with them, Lady's head resting on her lap. She remembered the day her brothers and Theon brought them all back, six direwolves for the six children of Ned Stark. She remembered how she and Arya squealed in joy and laughter when they saw the pups running and playing among each other. Bran immediately picked Summer up and claimed it as his, and Summer had huddled close to Bran, its ears still floppy. 

 "Why have you two come here?" she asked Lady and Nymeria. "Lady... how did Father let you go? Cersei saw your pelt..." 

 Lady whimpered as Sansa petted her head. There was eye contact and Sansa began to feel a familiar sensation returning to her. She knew that she was given the opportunity to look into Lady's mind and she took it. 

  _"What did Jon say about you pups, Lady?" the head of her human's pack said. He had a kind face and she was not too afraid of him. "The direwolf is the sigil of our House, that all of you were meant to be together... The thing that killed your mum, it was a stag... I wonder if it means anything..."_

_She did not remember how her mother had died. She only remembering being in the cold with her siblings. She remembered her human, her hair the color of the setting sun. She remembered that her human liked to give her treats when she was good. Her sister had left, and they left their brothers in the home of the humans. She missed them._

_"I'm sorry, Lady," the human pack leader continued. He had brandished a sharp blade, she whimpered, hoping that he would not use it on her, and for whatever reason, he stopped. "If your mum was killed by a stag... you can't die by my hand. It's not right. Stay here, Lady." The human pack leader left and when he returned, it was with another human, carrying a dead wolf which was more or less her color._

_"We're lucky to find it, my lord," the lesser human said. "Lady can go free now."_

_The pack leader bowed his head. She was not so sure of human gestures yet, but she took it as a sign of agreement. "The guards?"_

_"Sound asleep, my lord. I made sure that they had too much ale tonight."_

_The pack leader then turned towards her. "Go, Lady. You go out and find your sister Nymeria. Don't ever come looking for Sansa and Arya until you know that it's safe, alright?" Sansa... she knew that name. It was her human's name. Arya, she was that small human female that was her human's litter-mate._

_"Do you think that Lady understands, my lord?"_

_"She has to, Jory," the pack leader answered, removing her chains. "Now run along, and don't come back!"_

_She ran, following the pack leader's orders, she ran and looked for her sister for days. She found her soon enough, and they formed a pack of their own with the smaller wolves. There was plenty of food to eat, but there were other times when they had so little to eat that they had to feast on humans. Some humans had tough skins that could not really be eaten though, and those were most often the young ones with juicy, tender fingers. It was the old ones with stringy meat that were easiest to hunt, but... they could not choose._

_They lived like this for many moons. Since the pack leader said not to find them, they didn't, but one morning they realized that the scent of the pack leader went cold, as if he had disappeared from the world. Something had happened and they decided to go against his word. They went down south but Nymeria said that her human was coming back up north. The humans lived in packs, she told Nymeria. Sisters from the same pack would never leave one another, she reasoned, although Nymeria reminded her that they left their brothers behind too._

_Lady didn't care what Nymeria thought. For whatever reason, her human's scent was more prominent and she decided to follow it. She_ _was older, they went where she said to go, and they went south. The south was not like the north. The south was warm and hot, and when they went through the center of the south, it was hot and wet. They didn't like it at all, and continued moving south until they passed some mountains and found a terrain which they had never encountered before._

_It was sand. Sand that stretched for miles and miles, seared by the sun, burning their paws. But in the night, it was so cold that they huddled against each other for warmth. They were not really comfortable, but at least her human's scent was more and more prominent_...

 "Oh, you poor, brave things," Sansa said when she exited Lady's mind. "It's alright now, I won't let anyone harm you again. I swear it." 

* * *

 True to Oberyn's prediction, Ellaria did utter a great scream when she saw Lady and Nymeria on the carpet in their chamber, some distance away from the fireplace. Sansa immediately bolted awake, and held the direwolves, in case they would react to Ellaria's reaction to their presence. "What... what are they?" Ellaria demanded. "They're as big as ponies!" Ellaria had not seen direwolves before. When Oberyn, Obara and Nymeria took Casterly Rock with Robb, she was already in Lannisport, waiting for the battle to start and to end, so she had not seen Grey Wind before. Grey Wind was also absent from the little family reunion at Bitterbridge, so she could not have guessed their sheer size. 

 "They're direwolves," Sansa explained. "They... followed me here. I can't explain how, but they did." 

 "They are  _your_  direwolves?" Ellaria continued. 

 "You don't have to worry, they're well-behaved, sweet girls," Sansa reassured her, before turning towards the direwolves. "Lady, Nymeria... down!" 

 "You named a direwolf after Nym?" 

 "No, that's Arya's direwolf," Sansa explained. "She named it after Nymeria Martell." 

 "Are you seriously going to keep them here?" 

 "They have nowhere else to go," Sansa pleaded Ellaria. 

 "That is not your choice to make, my love," Ellaria pleaded in return. "This is not even Oberyn's choice to make, and you know it well." 

 "Ellaria..." 

 "These are direwolves, Sansa!"

 "They are  _our_  direwolves..." 

 "But direwolves nonetheless!" 

 "No buts," Ellaria said. "You will march them to Doran and you will await his decision on them." 

 Sansa knew that this was a battle that she would lose before she even fought it. She was surprised that Oberyn did not stop her at all. Something deep inside of her knew that he would be standing at the door, watching the entire exchange as though it was an entertaining play. 

 True enough, it  _was_  the case. 

 Oberyn did stand by the door, watching the entire exchange with a wide smirk on his face, but he was not the only one. To Sansa's convenience, Doran was beside him. 

 "So, these are direwolves," Doran said. "They are... magnificent." 

 "Lady, Nymeria, up," Sansa told the direwolves, and they stood on their legs. "They're well-trained and..." 

 "If they are direwolves then Nymeria must join your sister in the North," Doran said. "Lady may stay with you." 

 "How are you going to send Nymeria to Arya, brother?" Sansa asked Doran. The Volantene ships that had been loaned to bring the Northern armies from Lannisport to Deepwood Motte were halfway back to Volantis. It would be impossible to impose upon Triach Maegyr to ask one of his ships to make the trip again. 

 "An honor guard will bring her to Winterfell" Doran said. "You and Oberyn being the victims of an assassination attempt in Lys, clearly by the hand of the Lannisters. You, dear sister, you have been shot by Cersei's dogs in the City Watch in King's Landing itself... Dorne will not tolerate the atrocities they have committed to our family any longer. Your direwolves are a sign that the time is now ripe." 

* * *

 "It would seem that... Ned Stark was not as honest as we thought he was," Varys told the Small Council. "Two direwolves were spotted in Sunspear, both of them incredibly attached to Princess Sansa." 

 "Direwolves... in Dorne?" Mace Tyrell asked. 

 "Lord Tyrell, the direwolves were left to roam in the Riverlands, so it  _would_  be conceivable that they would have made it to Dorne after so long," Varys added. "It is strange, isn't it? For whatever reason, Ned Stark decided to go against King Robert's wishes..." 

 "The Northerners are superstitious," Tywin Lannister said. Direwolves were the sigil of House Stark. "It is no wonder that Lord Eddard Stark would have second thoughts on killing one." 

 "A Martell honor guard was also spotted moving up the Prince's Pass," Varys added. "My little birds tell of a rumor that Princess Sansa is bringing the direwolves back to Winterfell..." 

 Grand Maester Pycelle did not quite believe that report at all. "Princess Sansa was a Lannister ward who was given to the Martells as a bride for peace between those two Houses," he said. "How can it be possible that the Martells allow her to travel back to her homeland?"

 "That's because the Martells might not be our friends any more," Tyrion concluded, his eyes wider than a saucer. All the signs were already pointed towards it. If Gregor Clegane's confession was not good enough, Cersei's failed attempts to have Sansa and Oberyn killed could have pushed the Martells from seeking the Starks. Now that Robb Stark's popularity had soared into such great heights, loved by the smallfolk and his own bannermen, the possibility of a Stark and Martell alliance was not immediately out of reach. 

 However, Tywin remained calm as usual. "Lord Varys, can you verify the validity of what you've heard?" he asked Varys, who shook his head. 

 "As it stands, no," Varys said. "However, the direwolves are a confirmed sight." 

 "Then we must send an ambassador to Dorne, and confirm Sansa's presence there," Tywin simply concluded. "If she really is not there, then it would be valid reason to see Dorne as another enemy of the crown." 

 "Lord Tyrion, the combined Lannister and Tyrell armies number to 80000, and with Robb Stark returning to the North, we can easily crush them," Mace Tyrell added with utter confidence. 

 "Dorne has never been taken by an invader," Tyrion cautioned. "Not with dragons or sheer force." No one else but the Dornish could conquer Dorne by itself. Dorne was married into the Seven Kingdoms, and with Myrcella already promised to their Prince Trystane, they were running out of options. If the Starks and Martells did band together, with a strength of almost a million soldiers, and march against King's Landing, simple arithmetic would already count for a loss on their side. 

 "There is... some good news though," Varys spoke again. "Stannis Baratheon is now racing Robb Stark to the Wall. It seems that he wants a bit of glory against the wildlings." 

 Tywin broke into a little smile, one that told those who knew him that he had some devious plot in his head already. "Perhaps we should let our friends finish each other off at the Wall," he suggested. "Then we would have all the time in the world to deal with Dorne if it proves... unruly." 

 "Thank you, Lord Tyrion for volunteering to be the Realm's representative to Dorne," Varys said, already anticipating Tywin's next move. 

 "Good man, Lord Tyrion," Grand Maester Pycelle added. 

 "I wish you all the best on your journey south," Mace Tyrell continued. 

 Tyrion looked at all three of them in utter disgust, but could not do anything, since his father seemed set upon sending him to Dorne. "When am I leaving then?" he asked Tywin. 

 "As soon as a ship can be readied for the voyage," he said. "It would also be a good time to... ascertain what other strengths Dorne has. That claim that they have 50000 spears has stood of centuries. I want you to report  _everything_  that goes on there." 

 Tyrion nodded. "It will be one, Father," he said. "If I get swallowed by snakes, do have some form of rescue plan ready." 

 "That would depend on the manner of your report," Tywin barked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lady and Nymeria are back, yay! Don't ask me why I brought the direwolves back, in all honesty I was running out of ideas and decided to try it out. I hope you don't kill me. 
> 
> I thoroughly enjoyed that bit with Sansa and Ellaria. 
> 
> Tyrion in Dorne? OOOOO... 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> P.S: Today's pop culture reference is from LOTR: Return of the King.


	37. The Starks

 Winterfell. 

 Talisa had heard so much about her husband's home, the castle that stood for thousands of years, built atop hot springs that keep its denizens warm despite the harshest of winter. There, she was wrapped in furs and heavy velvets, no longer a Volantene lady but a Northern Queen, the first one in three hundred years. She had heard so many reports that Roose Bolton's bastard, Ramsay, had put it to torch, that it was sacked thrice in the span of three years. The first by Theon, the second time by Ramsay Snow and the third by Meage Mormont. In three years, ownership of Winterfell had been passed from the Starks to the Greyjoys, to the Boltons and to the Mormonts who held it in the name of the Starks. Now, the rightful masters of the North had returned, it was once again the capital of the Kingdom of the North. 

 There were tears in Robb's eyes. "When I left Winterfell with our bannermen, I never expected that we'd return alive," he told her, his arm around her shoulder. "Now, we are home... although we would have to march on soon." 

 Most of the people who lived in Winterfell had been killed. However, those who had escaped returned after the Mormonts reclaimed Winterfell, and some of the rebuilding works had already been started. Even from the distance, Winterfell was an imposing structure. Its turrets and towers standing tall, for there was nothing in the distance to rival it. This was to be her home now, Talisa told herself, and she knew that she would come to love it and know it as intimately as her husband would. 

 Arya and Catelyn were silent as they got closer and closer to their home. Like Robb and Talisa, they had opted to walk instead of riding into the castle, even if they could see that there were people at the main gate waiting for them. To others, it was a show of austerity, but they knew that they did not return to their home as victors. They returned because they had to, with the aid of their bannermen. It was deep in their Northern sensibilities that their entrace should reflect it. 

 They passed through the gates, and were greeted by Lady Meage Mormont and her daughters. Once they entered, they could see the smallfolk assembled in neat rows, waiting for their king. Like how they had knelt to Robert Baratheon when he visited Winterfell to ask for Robb's late father to be his Hand, they now knelt to Robb, their heads bowed deeply. 

 "Rise," he begged them. "If I had the choice, I wouldn't be your King. I would've been Lord Robb, still serving my father. But... that is not to be. Since the lords of the North have made me King in the North, then I will defend all that comes with this title. Your families, your farms and your mills... I vow to always protect you, my people, right until my last day." 

 "The King in the North!" his bannermen rallied, followed by the smallfolk. "The King in the North!" 

 It came as no surprise to Talisa that Robb's people would have acted as he did. She knew that he  _loved_  them. He was devoted to them. In return, they gave him their support, their loyalty and their prayers. 

 What happened after was a whirlwind. They were quickly ushered into the Great Hall where a great feast was already prepared for them to welcome them home. There Robb sat in the center of the raised platform, Talisa to his right and Catelyn to his left, and Arya furthest to the left. 

 "Your Grace," said Greatjon Umber, "We've... decided that you should need this." At his words, Lord Manderly came up to him and presented a heavy box to Robb. Upon opening it, Robb saw that it was a crown, one made of bronze. Its spikes were the shape of longswords, made of black iron. Greatjon then turned towards Talisa and a seperate box was given to her by Meage Mormont. Talisa's was a circlet made of slim silver, skilfully depicting tigers and direwolves with bejeweled eyes. 

 "Thank you," Robb and Talisa said in unison, much to the amusement of the Northern lords. 

 "May your rule be long and prosperous," they wished their King and Queen. They also offered kind prayers for Talisa's unborn child. 

 "By the way the Queen's carrying, we'd be waiting for a future Prince!" one of the lords added. "I should know, me wife's had five of them!"

 The feast was a great success. Hand in hand, Robb and Talisa walked through the rows of long tables, talking and conversing with their bannermen. While Talisa had already been the Queen in the North for the better part of a year already, it took much of her time and energy for Robb's bannermen to not regard her as a mere eastern flower that had caught Robb's fancies. Now that she had been given her crown by the Mormonts, it finally  _felt_  like she was the Queen in the North, and not some pretender merely because she was Robb's wife. 

 Robb knew all of them. Every one of them. He knew whose mother was suffering from gout and whose sister had twins months ago. Talisa was amazed. Back in Volantis, she was so closely-guarded that she could only be in the company of those that her grandfather had approved of. 

 "It was part of his training to become the future Lord of Winterfell," Catelyn explained to her when she returned to her seat. Now in the middle to late stages of her pregnancy, she was no longer as mobile as she once was. "His father would bring him, Jon and Theon to visit each lord in their keeps from time to time, so that they would know their lands and their bannermen well." 

 "It is no wonder that they love him so," Talisa said. 

 "They love you too," Arya offered. "You're actually good at, you know, ruling, and Robb's not. You should help him do more of that too."

 Talisa thanked Arya for her kind words. Her grandfather was elected to be a Triach year after year, and he had a solid plan for his unofficial dynasty to continue on. So although her father had a son, her grandfather made sure that she was well-educated in statecraft so that she could be of aid to her brother, to keep matters within the family as much as possible. In all honesty, it was not Robb's fault that he was not as good a ruler as he had been a military commander and a warrior. Northerners were honest and honorable, and obviously had no nose for politics, a complete turn from the Volantene ruling class. She was... relieved that they were starting to appreciate what she was able to do, however little help it might seem to be. 

 "I hope that I am worthy of such a love," she replied. 

 "Don't worry, Talisa," Catelyn told her daughter-in-law. "You will be." 

 It spoke volumes to her, just because Catelyn had said those words to her.

* * *

 Lady whimpered and sulked when Nymeria left. She missed her sister. They had never been apart for more half a day in their lives. Nymeria, on the other hand, could not help but keep looking back towards Lady. 

 "You must let her go, Lady," Sansa told her. "She's going back so that Arya can be with her." Of course, that was partly the truth of it. The other truth would be that Doran was using Nymeria the direwolf as part of a political play. Word had been sent out that the one in the honor guard was not Nymeria, but was Sansa instead. It would lure the Lannisters out to capture or kill her, and they would be sorely mistaken should they find a direwolf in the carriage and expert warriors defending it. 

 Lady nuzzled Sansa's leg and Sansa patted her head. "Imagine Nym's face when she finds that she has the same name as the direwolf," Oberyn told her. It took a few days for Lady to truly get used to him and Ellaria. The two of them would approach Lady with raw steaks to entice her into their company, but strangely, she was awfully tolerant with the Sand Snakes, even letting Loreza lean against her while the two of them napped. 

 "Obara would laugh, I think," Sansa suggested. "And Nym would fall in love with Nymeria and Arya will be jealous." 

 "Are you so sure?" Ellaria asked. 

 "No, but I hope so. We used to fight a lot, Arya and I," she explained. She would give anything for the chance to do so again. 

 "Have you seen the girls at it then?" Oberyn asked. "I'm not only reason they're called the Sand Snakes'". 

 "They made me glad I'm an only child, sometimes," Ellaria added. "The din would be enough to cause one to deafen before old age." 

 Somehow, Sansa felt a pang of relief solely because the Sand Snakes were mostly older and wiser. Youth made one feel self-important, because they could not understand the effects of one's actions that would spill onto others. 

 "The Lannisters will see a Martell carriage along the Kingsroad and they will slay anyone in them," Doran said proclaimed, gesturing his head towards Nymeria in the carriage made for a royal princess. "What a sight it would be, lions cowering before a direwolf when they seek a princess." 

 "Too bad they'll find nothing," Oberyn said. "Not a single shadow." Behind Nymeria's carriage were three others like it. All four carriages had an honor guard accompanying them. One would set out from Sunspear on land, the others would sail. The second would be dropped off at Oldtown, the third at Lannisport and the last one, the one containing Nymeria, would reach Deepwood Motte. Each and every one of them would move towards Winterfell from their respective drop-off points, hoping that the Lannisters would be confused and confounded. It was an elaborate plot, for the transport of a direwolf, but it was needed. It was needed to undermine the Lannisters, to prove them victims of their own games, something short of rising against them outright. 

 Word had been sent to King's Landing that Sansa would be in one of those carriages, ready to return to her family now that Robb had retaken the North. She would be returning with her two direwolves, the rumors said. When Varys contacted them through one of his little birds, it was all they said. They would find out the rest on their own. The plan was to have the Lannisters strike first, so that they would have an excuse to retaliate. 

 "Is it wise, brother, to bait the Lannisters so soon?" Sansa asked. "Robb's just only arrived in the North, and if Lord Varys can be trusted, the Lannisters would have just only received the news..." 

 "Soon?" Doran asked Sansa. "No, dear sister, it is not too soon. We have been waiting for this for 20 years. We have waited enough." It was only then did Sansa realize one thing that many others did not, that Doran and Oberyn were actually made from the same stock. In their fury, their anger would be a hurricane that no one could withstand, but in a clever play, Oberyn was allowed to act his rages out, while Doran stayed in control. Doran was the grass that sheltered the snake, the foil that enabled everything that would happen. It was only natural, for Doran had the entirety of Dorne on his shoulders. 

 "Will they even take the bait?"

 "They will," Doran reassured her. "Even with your sister found, you are still your brother's heir. They  _will_  want you back in their custody if they think that we have betrayed them." Doran made no mention of Bran and Rickon, for he knew that even in Dorne, there were spies everywhere. With her brothers presumed dead, Sansa was Robb's heir until he has a son, or until he was sure that his son would survive him. It would be safer for them, in a way, so that no one might find them and use them against Robb. 

 "It would seem that you, my love, are the key to Westeros as it stands," Oberyn teased, placing an arm around her waist. "What an honor it is to have so many fighting over you." 

 "I never wanted such an honor," Sansa bit back. "I just want all of this to end soon." 

 "It will, in time," Doran said. "For now, we must all play our cards well. As you say in the words of your House, 'Winter is coming'." 

* * *

 "Jon, did you hear?" Samwell Tarly asked Jon as he went about his duties, having narrowly escaped death. He had faced the wrath of the wildlings before, but no wrath was as deadly as the wrath of his brothers. He was lucky that Maester Aemon believed him, and he was thus allowed to keep his head. 

 "Hear what, Sam?" Jon asked in return. 

 "Your brother, Robb... I mean... the King in the North, he's returned to Winterfell!" 

 Jon's jaw fell immediately. When he had awakened, he was given two pieces of news. The first was that he was now Jon Stark, legitimized by Robb. Ser Alliser had made quite a show that even though he was no longer a Snow, he was still not a fitting heir because he was already a Black Brother. In private, Jon had been so happy that he had shed tears. The second, was that his sisters were well and alive. Sansa was married to the Dornish prince Oberyn, while Arya was delivered to Robb when he still occupied Casterly Rock by none other than the Hound himself. This third piece of news was what he had just heard from Sam, and he found it to be the most stupid thing that Robb could ever do. 

 "What's he gonna do back up North?" Jon wondered. "He's got Casterly Rock and that's perfectly defensible. He could have taken the Lannisters one by one from there!" When they were boys, Maester Luwin taught them about the various keeps and castles in Westeros. How they were defended, how they could be garrisoned. Casterly Rock was once thought to be impregnable. He did not know how Robb did it, but Robb managed to take it from the Lannisters and he should have stayed there. 

 "Well, don't you Starks always say that 'there must always be a Stark in Winterfell'?" Sam asked. 

 "He can't win the war if he's holed up back home!" Jon exclaimed. 

 "Maybe he's coming up to the Wall?" Sam suggested. "When you were gone, Maester Aemon sent ravens down south to ask for help so..." 

 Jon's eyes widened so much that Sam was sure that could have popped out of his sockets. He looked as though he was going to have some sort of outburst, but in the end, he quieted himself. "Robb is coming up here?" he asked. 

 "Aye, he is," Sam said. "I know that we're not supposed to have any families, after we've taken our vows, but... he's your brother, and won't it be nice to see him again?"

 "Yes," Jon said. "The last time I saw him, he was in the courtyard of Winterfell. He said, 'Next time I see you, you'll be all in black.' I was jealous of Robb my whole life. The way my father looked at him, I wanted that. He was better than me at everything... fighting and hunting and riding... and girls... Gods, the girls loved him. I wanted to hate him, but I never could." Even though he was raised a bastard, Robb was his brother. Sansa did not understand, because she was so close to Lady Catelyn, and thankfully Arya loved him like Robb did. He had a good rapport with Bran, but he was too young and Rickon... Rickon was still a child at Lady Catelyn's legs. He remembered that they were playmates, and then they were sparring-mates. They did everything together. 

 Sam sighed. "Sometimes, I want to hate you too," he said in the tone that Jon had taken. "Well, you're better than me at everything... except reading..."

 Then, they heard it. War-horns, horns from Winterfell. Jon knew those horns if they were sounded hundred and hundreds of miles away. A full fanfare was sounded and without a moment's hesitation, Jon and Sam ran towards the courtyard from where they were, into the snow. 

 There was a magnificent host, but Jon had never seen anything like it. Each and every one of those soldiers had the same uniform. Their armor was a mixture of steel and reinforced leather, they held the same swords and spears. There were also Dornishmen, he reckoned, by the darkness of their skin compared to the others, wrapped in more thick clothing than the others did, for they were unaccustomed to the cold. 

 At the head of the host was Robb and there were two women flanking him immediately, along with the other Northern lords. He had never seen the women before, but somehow, he knew that neither of them was his Queen. In fact, they looked as if they were Dornish too. 

 Jon wanted to go to the courtyard to see Robb, but for whatever reason, Maester Aemon patted him on the shoulder and said, "Go wait in the hall, Jon Stark. The King will see you in time  Prepare some food for him too, please." 

 As much as he wanted to speak against the old maester, Jon quietly obeyed. 

 "The Night's Watch welcomes Robb Stark, King in the North," Ser Alliser said once Robb got off his horse. "I am Ser Alliser Thorne, acting Lord Commander." 

 "Well met, Ser Alliser. I hope that you will be pleased to know that I will be personally leading the Northern army in defending the Wall with you and your brothers. With me are the Lords of the North, who also see justice in your cause. These two ladies with me are Captain Obara Sand and Lieutenant Nymeria Sand, who act as marshals in our army." 

 Ser Alliser's nostrils flared at the sight of the Dornishwomen. "I'm afraid that women are not allowed on the Wall," he said. "We have to... uphold the discipline of our ranks as it is." 

 Nymeria glared at him while Obara moved forward and spat, "We are here on His Grace's orders, as representatives of House Martell and our father, Prince Oberyn Martell. If you think that our presence here will ruin the discipline of your men, they would want to think twice before they try fuck women that are so armed that we could cut their balls off if they dare to even look at us in a manner that we do not appreciate."

 "Peace, Captain Sand," Robb said, and Obara stepped back Robb's side. "I assure you, Ser Alliser, that my Captain and Lieutenant have been blooded well. We also humbly ask that you allow us to occupy one of the castles nearest to you, so that we might have shelter throughout this campaign. We brought our own food, and supplies will come to Castle Black and us from all of the North. We won't be too much of a bother." 

 Ser Alliser frowned. "You give us no other choice then," he said. "Maester Aemon, which castles do you think could house His Grace and his host?"

 Maester Aemon gave a slight moment's thought and said, "Queensgate should be serviceable, Your Grace." 

 Robb noddded. "Very well then, we shall adjourn to Queensgate." 

 "Oh, Your Grace, wouldn't you want to rest awhile?" Maester Aemon asked Robb. "It's been quite a journey for you, and I've arranged for one of our stewards to bring you and your lords mulled wine and some bread and cheese..." 

 "I couldn't forgo such hospitality," Robb said. "Thank you, Maester Aemon. You are too kind." 

 Together with his bannermen, Obara and Nymeria, Robb helped Maester Aemon into the hall and sat him immediately by the fire. "You're a good man, Your Grace," Maester Aemon praised. "Your father would have been pleased." 

 Robb smiled, although he knew that Maester Aemon could not see it. He sat next to Maester Aemon, but he seemed to notice a familiar mess of dark hair so pretty that it could have been a girl's head. He turned around and found that it was Jon. "Come here, you rascal!" he roared, almost running towards Jon and embraced him in a large, bear-like hug. "Look at you! You're all in black!" 

 "We're... all in black here, you know," Jon retorted sardonically, but suddenly remembered that Robb was not how he remembered him to be now. "I... I'm sorry, Your Grace." 

 "Come off it," Robb said sternly. He would always be just Robb with his family. "I missed you, brother. If you weren't so dead set on coming here, you would've been fighting by my side as Prince Jon Stark of Winterfell." 

 "That would be a sight," Jon replied. "My place is here, Robb. I might have been an ass to want to come here, but this is where I belong now. You're my brother, and so are the rest of the Night's Watch." 

 "Aye, I understand," Robb said. "But don't flatter yourself, I didn't come up all the way from Casterly Rock just to see you and your pretty face..." 

 Maester Aemon tutted. "That will be talk for another day, Your Grace," he said. "You and Jon have just reunited, and you should be talking about everything else but war. Jon, you are relieved of your work for today. Go to the library with His Grace, you can take as long as you want." The Stark boys thanked him in unison, and he could not help but to chuckle. "Run along now." 

 "I heard that your Queen is from the east..."

 "Yes, most beautiful girl I've ever laid eyes on..." 

 At that moment, Ser Alliser came up towards Maester Aemon, watching Jon and Robb walk towards the library. "Do you think it's wise, putting him up with his brother?" he asked. "Didn't you hear what the Young Wolf say to him?"

 "I heard him very clearly, Ser Alliser," Maester Aemon replied. "However, he would not be the first prince to serve on the Wall while his brother reigns, nor will he be the last. There is good stock in these Stark boys, and they could give us the chance of survival that we've been so desperately fighting and... begging for." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Jon finally makes his debut! WOOHOO! I hope that you like his reunion with Robb! 
> 
> Queensgate is the castle to the left of Castle Black, if you're wondering. 
> 
> It's a very good time to be a Stark in this chapter. Let's hope the good times last. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> P.S: I'll be away to the beach this weekend, so I'll only continue writing on Monday. Eid Mubarak to all my Muslim friends (I don't celebrate it although I live in a country that does) and Selamat Hari Raya Aidilfitri, maaf zahir dan batin!


	38. Resolve

_She saw a city of pyramids, standing like tall towers before the host that Mother commanded. The denizens of the pyramids were all gathered before them on the walls of the city. The humans there wore different skins. Some wore skins that were soft and supple, wrapped across their bodies in bright colors of turquoise, yellow and blues, but others had dirty, beige skins that were coarse. The latter wore metal collars at their necks, some on their front and hind legs. Mother seemed upset that they were wearing such things._

_"Are they attacking?" Mother asked Jorah, her favorite companion that she had known for a long time. They had stopped before the gates of the city, and there were two statues of women that had bird-wings for arms, dressed in nothing but a strange hat that had two horns._

_"A single rider," Jorah answered. "A champion of Meereen. They want you to send your own champion against him."  As he spoke, a man on a white horse rode out of the gates, followed by the cheers and cries of his people. He rode to the left end of the gates and got down from his horse, shouting a jumble of words that she could not understand, but neither did Mother._

_"What is he doing?" Mother asked as the man started to remove his skins, revealing his genitals._

_"I believe he means to..." even before Barristan could answer Mother's question, the man started urinating before everyone to see. It was a disgusting display and mother rolled her eyes openly._

_Mother's attendant, Missandei, who knew many tongues of humans, then started to translate his strange, garbled words. "He says that we're an army of men without man-parts. He claims that you are no woman at all, but a man who..."  Missandei paused for a moment and continued after knowing that Mother would not like it if she withheld anything. "...hides his cock in his own asshole."_

_"Ignore him, Your Grace,"  Barristan advised Mother. "These are meaningless words."_

_However, Jorah begged to differ. "They're not meaningless if half the city you intend to take is listening to them," he reasoned._

_Mother knew that both of them were right. "I have something to say to the people of Meereen," she proclaimed. "First, I will need this one to be quiet... Do I have a champion?"_

_One by one, Mother's human males started to gather around her, each one offering their services. Barristan went first. "Your Grace, I've won more single combats than any man alive..."_

_"...which is why you must remain by my side," Mother interrupted him. The fiercest human warrior should always protect Mother. It was a wise move indeed, she thought._

_"I've been by your side longer than any of them, Khaleesi, let me stand for you today as well," Jorah offered._

_"You are my most trusted advisor, my most valued general and my dearest friend," Mother told Jorah. "I will not gamble with your life."_

_"I was the last to join your army. I'm not your general, or a member of your Queensguard or the commander of your Unsullied," Daario Naharis said. "My mother was a whore. I come from nothing, and before long, I will return to nothing. Let me kill this man for you."_

_Although the others had volunteered, Mother felt it... interesting that he would do so as well. Mother never had a high opinion of him, probably because he was a man that Mother had always felt she should not trust. "Very well," she said. "You have quite an audience, make it worth their while."_

_"He is very brave, Your Grace," Missandei told Mother._

_"Yes, win or lose, as long as the whole city is watching," Mother elaborated. She then walked towards her champion and asked, "You're sure that you don't want a horse?"_

_"Why would i want a horse?"  Daario asked._

_"Horses are faster than men," Mother replied._

_"Horses are dumber than men."_

_The rider started to charge towards Daario with his lance straight. Daario just stood there, unsheathing one of his dagger, waiting for the rider to get closer. He threw the dagger and managed to hit the rider in the eye. When the rider fell, Daario took his arakh and chopped off his head._

_The people on the city walls loosed arrows at Daario, but none of them hit him. Daario then loosened his skins on his legs and urinated on the arrows, to repay the gesture given to Mother and her army previously._

_"Daenerys Jelmāzmo iksan. Kostilus jevi āeksia yno bē pirtra jemot vestretis, iā daoruni jemot vestretis. Daoriot jemas. Doriar udra pōnto syt eman. Mērī jemī ivestran," Mother told him in the Old Tongue. She was speaking to the ones in the city who wore beige skins, those with metal around their necks and limbs. She told who she was, and that she wanted to talk to them._

_In truth, everyone could hear Mother. Those in colorful skins could too, and they looked fearful more than anything. "Ēlī Astaprot istan. Astaprot dohaertrossa sīr yno inkot iōrzi, dāeri. Hembar Yunkaihot istan. Yunkaihī dohaertrossa sīr yno inkot iōrzi, dāeri. Sesīr Mirinot mastan." Mother told them that she went to Astapor and Yunkai, and that the slaves there were free, whatever slaves meant. She was in Meereen now, to do the same._

_She put two and two together. Humans who dressed in beige skins and metal were slaves. They could not go anywhere or do anything as they wanted. Mother wanted to secure their freedom. That was why she had taken the big boat from that beautiful garden to come to the cities which had slaves. "Jevys qrinuntys ikson daor. Jevys qrinuntys jemo paktot issa," Mother told them, reassuring them that she was not their enemy. Their enemies were standing right beside them. "Jevys qrinuntys jevor riñar laodissis ossēnīs. Jevys qrinuntys jemo syt mērī belma se boteri se udrāzmī ēzi."  She told them that their enemies steal and murder their children, bringing nothing but chains and suffering._

_One by one, the humans wearing bright skins started to leave. Fear. The city was rank with it. There were all kinds of fear. Fear for their lives, fear for what might happen to them. All eyes remained on Mother, her voice carried by the wind._

_"Udrāzmī jemot maghon daor. Iderennon maghan. Se jevo qrinuntoti pōjor gūrotriri maghan," Mother continued. She brought them a choice, and she would bring the enemies of the beige-skins what they truly deserved._

_"Naejot!" Mother shouted, and catapults were brought forth. The bright-skins all gasped. "Nābēmātās!" One by one, the catapults fired their ammunition into the city. The bright-skins and beige-skins shouted and cried for their lives, waiting their city to crumble._

_It did not. It was the ammunition that crumbled. They were revealed to be merely barrels made of simple wood. One by one the barrels shattered against stone. Those in the city clearly expected something worse._

_The bravest of the beige-skins stepped out and reached out for the things that came out from the shattered barrels. They were the things that the beige-skins wore around their necks, but it the styles of Yunkai and Astapor._

* * *

 When Sansa woke from her latest vision, she was sure that Robb was not the only one who knew how to utilize the seemingly unused concept of psychological warfare. Daenerys Targaryen was able to do it as well, and with great effect. By catapulting slave-collars into the city of Meereen, she instilled the fact that slaves  _could_  be free to the slaves themselves. They would begin to doubt the hold that their masters had on them. 

 "I've learned two things from that vision," she told Doran and Oberyn in Doran's study, where they would be uninterrupted. "Her dragons understand Valyrian when it is spoken, and she is a brilliant tactician." 

 "As it always is," Doran said. "But I am afraid that Aegon the Conquerer was the only brilliant tactician  _and_  ruler. We often have rulers that have only one such quality and not the other. Fat Bob was a war hero, but he could not rule the Seven Kingdoms. Even your brother, Robb, had a bumpy start towards Kingship." It was a worrying trend, to have rulers who could only fight and not rule. "However, when Robert was King, the land was ripe with corruption and factions scheming against one another that he could not and did not stamp out, and Aegon the Conquerer had three fully-grown dragons and hundreds of dragon-eggs in his rookery." 

 "Fear and love go hand in hand in war," Oberyn reminded his brother. "Those who are wise are able to yield them well." 

 "We shall wait for reports from Meereen to come before we take further action," Doran said. "As it stands, Daenerys may or may not be able to take Meereen. If she does, Dorne must be ready to rally to her." 

 "What can we do to help her?" Sansa asked. "If she takes Meereen, she will only add to her list of enemies. Once the Lannisters know what we are up to, we'll need soldiers to protect ourselves, and to take King's Landing when the times comes for it." 

 Doran smiled. "Dorne has nothing to offer her," he said simply. "We are supplicants to the Silver Queen. We can only give her our support and our men. But you, my dear, Sansa of the North and Dorne shall offer her everything." 

 Sansa did not understand. "I beg your pardon?" she asked. "What did you mean by that?"

 "My love, you are the only Greenseer and Warg that we have in our arsenal," Oberyn reminded her. "You've said it yourself, Sansa, you have a bond with Daenerys Targaryen and her green dragon that even she realizes. Go to her and guide her home." 

 Sansa knew that there must be another motive. Her being a Greenseer and a Warg could mean so many things to them. She could teach herself to spy on the Lannisters for Dorne or on Stannis for Robb... But yet, she would be sent to Meereen if it was taken by the Targaryen queen. Her blue eyes looked towards Doran and then to Oberyn. "Is that all?" she asked Oberyn. "Is that what my lord husband would command me to do?"

 Doran shared a look with Oberyn. It was he who suggested it, and it would be he who would deal with any reaction that she had. Doran could only add his authority to the matter. 

 "It is to keep you safe, Sansa," Oberyn said, walking towards his wife, holding her shoulders in his hands. "We cannot know what is going to happen in the future, or how the Lannisters would react. All we know is that Westeros would become a bloodbath, and I cannot bear if you were hurt in any way." 

 "Are you sending Ellaria and the girls away as well?" she asked him. It was not envy that brought her to those words, he knew her well enough to know that. She wanted to know if he was purposely protecting her, as if somehow asking if he had doubted her and her ability to survive by his side. 

 Oberyn nodded. "They will be in Hellholt with her father," he said. "Sansa, I cannot risk the safety of  _any_  one of you. With you in Essos, and them in Hellhot with Lord Harmon, at least, I can assure you that you all are as far from harm as possible." 

 "You can't possibly think like that!" Sansa countered. "You don't know what it's like in Meereen. Maybe Daenerys would have me fed to her dragons after she knows that I'm Lyanna's niece? You can't see into the future..." 

 "But you can, my love," Oberyn replied. His voice was calm, resolute. He sounded just like when he was telling her that he would face the Mountain, and she knew from that experience, she knew that nothing she did would change his mind. "Have I ever let you down before?"

 "You haven't," she answered. It was strange. When she had just come to Dorne, she was so eager to prove herself. Now, when the chance was coming to her, all she wanted to do was to stay by Oberyn's side. She was such a stupid, selfish little thing. She knew that she should not be contrary, that she should stick to the path that she had wanted for herself.  Now that she was given the opportunity to spread her wings, she should be able to seize it. She  _wanted_   it so badly, and she could just taste it, the thrill of a challenge. "When will I be leaving?"

 "We have been getting a ship ready for you," Doran cut in. "It is the  _Silver Storm_ , and by the first hint of danger, you are to sail upon it to Meereen. I have already sent a raven to your brother at the Wall, asking for his writing to ask for an alliance with Daenerys, and I will give you mine. Once again, you will be our Lady Ambassador, sister. Do whatever you can to convince her to return to Westeros." 

 "I will, brother," Sansa told Doran. "I will make the North and Dorne proud when the time comes." 

 Doran nodded. "I am sure that you will honor us all, dear sister." 

* * *

 That night, Oberyn spent the entire night with Sansa. Ellaria retired to her own chambers, citing that the Prince and the Princess had much to discuss with one another. "Volantis was a test, wasn't it?" Sansa asked her husband. "You all wanted to know if I could handle myself as an ambassador..." 

 "Your actions in Volantis brought the Volantene fleet to Lannisport, and transported your brother and his bannermen back to the North," Oberyn told her, kissing her forehead. "Without your care for your brother's in-laws, Triach Maegyr would not have made such a move." For whatever reason, Sansa took one look at Talisa's parents and knew that they would be worried sick over her. Perhaps it was her beating daughter's heart that brought her to such a conclusion, but the moment their hearts were lightened over the knowledge of Talisa's safety, Oberyn knew that their mission was going to be a success. "Robb had faith in you, and now you must have faith in yourself." 

 "Robb  _didn't_  tell me that he wanted a fleet of Volantene ships," Sansa returned. No one had said anything about sending a fleet to Lannisport. Robb had presumed that Talisa's letter would have sufficed. If he had told her, she would have taken the greatest care for the mission, she would  _not_  have allowed Oberyn to stop in Lys and in the Red Lotus at all. "It all just... happened so suddenly..." 

 "Which shows that you have the ability to think on your feet," Oberyn continued, looking directly into her eyes. 

 "You want to ship me off to Meereen at the first sign of danger, but what if anything happens to you?" Sansa asked him, almost staring him down. "Would you leave me in Essos, widowed and alone?"

 "I plan to grow old with you, my love," Oberyn told her. "I plan to give you daughters of your own, or sons if you wish. Trust me, Sansa, I did not deliver you from that cesspool called King's Landing just to leave you a widow in Essos." 

 "Prove it," she said. It was a command, and he would serve. Gently, he pulled her above him and kissed her hungrily. This was his wife, a woman of the North, yet restive, made of steel, but not wholly ice. Politically astute, yet so young in her years, but wise enough to doubt herself. If she was willing, Oberyn would have brought the Seven Kingdoms to heel so that she would be Queen. But she did not have such wild ambition. Her mission to herself was only to find her place in this vast, cruel world. Let Robb avenge their father, let Arya become the warrior-woman of songs, but she, she would play her own part in the histories of the world. 

 It was different from all the times they had made love. There was no hunger, nor ecstasy. There was only love, a slow fire that filled them both. While they rode out their orgasms, Oberyn nipped at the lower curve of her right breast almost drawing blood, but not so. When that lovebite would heal, his teeth marks would stay. It was a secret, known only to the two of them. "If... you find a man or woman in Essos that suits your fancy, do not hesitate to approach them," he told her as she sipped her Moontea, "you are young, my love, you should take the time to explore... other ventures besides Ellaria and I." 

 "Maybe I shall," she said. There was no use trying to refuse him. She was no simple maiden. Simple maidens would become cross at his words, for daring to imply that they had no honor, that they would take it as an excuse to look for others. "Perhaps I should start with the Silver Queen's translator... She has curly hair so wiry that they stand on end, like the sun of your family's sigil, soft, brown eyes and a figure to die for." 

 "Such a woman, and she runs about with Unsullied and Queens?" Oberyn asked. "For shame..." 

 "Or maybe, the Tyroshi sellsword that tries to catch Daenerys' favor," Sansa continued. "He wields a Dothraki sword too..." 

 "We have arakhs in our armory, my love," Oberyn cooed. "Perhaps I should show you how it is used?"

 Thus, they remained in bed, teasing one another, speaking of what might become in the battlefields of Westeros and Essos. Chaos was encroaching the world, yet they laid in bed, laughing. Sansa said that her brother would kill more enemies than he did, while he claimed that she would steal all of the Silver Queen's consorts from her. They talked until they slept in each other's arms, with promises of a fairer tomorrow, past the ash and the smoke. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Valryian dialogue comes from http://wiki.dothraki.org/Season_4_High_Valyrian_Dialogue. Many thanks for transcribing it!
> 
> I thought that it would be fitting that the dragons would think that the clothes people wear are skins. 
> 
> Don't worry, we'll see more of Robb and Jon on the Wall soon. 
> 
> Today's pop culture reference goes to the anime Ayashi No Ceres, which is quite an old one, but one of my all-time favorites. Oh, and LOTR: Return of the King as well. 
> 
> Enjoy!


	39. The Preparation

 "Do you think Sansa will be safe in Meereen?" Jon asked Robb after he sent the raven out with Maester Aemon's help. "Isn't Dorne safe enough?" The raven was one of utter importance. One that had to reach Sunspear and only Sunspear. It was a letter of recommendation for Sansa, for when she would land in Meereen, in Daenerys Targaryen's service. 

 "If the Lannisters find out about our alliance, they will use the Tyrells and their vast armies to squash every one of us. Dorne is the nearest to them. If even her husband cannot guarantee her safety there..." 

 "Didn't you marry Sansa to Prince Oberyn so he could protect her?"

 "She  _is_  protected," Robb said. "He delivered her from King's Landing. He loves her, with that  _paramour_  of his. Dorne loves her, and if Dorne sees that the safest course for Sansa is in Meereen, then she should go to Meereen. Sansa's a Greenseer too, and a Warg, can you believe it? She's doing all those things that we've only read and heard about from Old Nan." 

 Jon looked across the courtyard and found the Dornish soldiers that Robb brought with him shivering in the cold, even the Sand Snakes that Robb brought with him were huddled in double the furs a Northerner needed. "You trust them?" he asked his half-brother. 

 "I  _have_  to, Jon," Robb said. "If they wanted to bring me ruin, they could have done so a long time ago. Oberyn came to us in the Riverlands after I executed Lord Karstark. Our morale was so low, our forces stretched so thin... I had thought of going back to the Freys to apologize so we could have their men. The Red Viper came to us with ten thousand spearmen that they had hidden in the Riverlands and the Westerlands as traveling merchants. Without those Dornish spearmen and the Sand Snakes, my head would have been on a pike for Tywin Lannister now." 

 "Well, I'm glad that you're alive," he said. "You know, I was a right prick when I first came here. I thought I was gonna make a new life for myself, that I was going to put everything behind me. But, every day I spent up here made me think more of home, of Winterfell. When news that Father had died reached here, I wanted to go with you, but... my brothers made me stay. I never thought that you'd come up here though." 

 Robb sighed. "It was coming back North or defend Casterly Rock and  _wait_  for Daenerys Targaryen to come with her dragons," he answered. "Since I'd have to defend something anyways, I'd reckoned that it would be good strategy to come home. My bannermen hasn't seen their homes in three years... you can't take the North out of a Northerner. We won't do well in the South, well, except Sansa." 

 Jon smiled. "Well, let's hope you're able to get down even after winter sets," he said. "Wouldn't want to keep your Queen waiting." 

 "And what about you? I heard that you had a Wildling girl when you were acting as a spy..."

 "Come off it, who told you that?" 

 "A king has his ways," Robb answered with a wink of an eye that Jon was sure would have broken the hearts of many a maid that laid eyes on him. "It's one of the perks... So are you going to tell me about her or not?"

 "No," Jon rebuked. "Not until the Seven Hells freeze over." 

 Chuckling. "Alright, suit yourself," he said. "But if any woman comes up and does you in for leaving her, don't come running to me." For whatever reason, Jon fell completely silent, his head bent down onto the snow beneath them, as though he was trying not to remember something. "Jon, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that." 

 "It's alright," Jon said before noticing that Nymeria had already come up to them. 

 "What is it, Nym?" Robb asked her. 

 "Your Grace, Prince Jon (Jon wandered why the Sand Snakes  _insisted_  on calling him that, although they were wise not to do so around the others), a village in the Gift was attacked. Wildlings descended upon them, killing all in sight. There was only one survivor" 

 Robb nodded and started descending the stairs. "The Wildlings, Nymeria, did the survivor describe them?" Jon asked Nymeria. 

 Nymeria shook her head. "The boy, Olly, he said that one of them threatened to eat his dead parents," she answered. "There was nothing else." 

 Jon hardened his expression as he went down the stairs, following Robb's footsteps. Robb had already gotten to the boy that Nymeria was talking about. He was sobbing quietly, and Robb was comforting him, having the boy sit on his lap. "Shh, child, as long as I'm here, nothing will harm you again," he told the boy. The boy said nothing, continuing to cry his eyes out. 

 No one sought to stop him. Jon shared a careful nod with Robb and watched as the Black Brothers gathered in the hall, shouting suggestions on what they should do to curb the wildling menace. 

 "We need to teach them a lesson about the way we deal with their kind!" shouted one of them, and the others around him chorused their agreement. "Three dozen bodies with slit throats tossed off the top of the Wall, seems like that would be a good lesson!" 

 Ser Alliser grimaced, then frowned. "If we go after them, we'll be giving them what they want," he told the others. "They want to draw us out, pick us off a few at a time." 

 "We have just over a hundred men, and that's including stewards, builders and me. We can't afford to lose a single man," Maester Aemon said. "We cannot over-rely on His Grace's men, because they might need to ride south if anything happens. We must remember our first responsibility, we are the Watchers on the Wall." They had all said their oaths, and they knew that they had to see it done. Robb was silent. The Night's Watch did not heed any King to start with anyways. 

 "There's got to be a way to protect them," Pyp said. But there was still silence. 

 "You're the champion of the people,  _Prince Snow_ ," Ser Alliser said to Jon, an insult that Jon had long taught Robb to ignore. It would be folly to chastise him over such a small mistreatment, and it could be well a test for Jon's own humility, for they were all equal at the Wall. "What do you say to Brother Pyp's proposition." 

 Jon looked at Ser Alliser square in the eye. "Mance Rayder is coming," he said coolly. "If the Wildlings breached the Wall, they'll roll over everything for 1000 miles before they reach an army that can stop them. We need to shore up Castle Black and we need to defend the Wall." 

 "Surely, with the Northern Army here, it would be a lot easier," Robb assumed, but to his dismay, Jon shook his head. 

 "Robb, Mance Rayder's armies are one hundred thousand strong. Even if you are at full strength, you can't defeat that number," Jon added. "It'll need  _all_  of Westeros to do it and currently as we are, we cannot defeat such a force." 

 Robb fell silent immediately. It was the first time that he had heard anything about the numbers that Mance Rayder had. Maester Aemon's message had said nothing of the sort and Jon did not reveal anything until now. However, his thoughts were interrupted by horn blasts that only the Black Brothers could recognize. 

 "Rangers returning," Pyp proclaimed, and the entire hall moved towards the gate, leaving Robb with Olly. 

 Jon was the first one through, finding Grenn and Edd. Edd looked at Jon and said, "Thought you'd had blue eyes by now." Jon only put Edd's arm around his shoulder and helped him to walk back to the courtyard. 

 "What took you so long?" Ser Alliser asked Grenn and Edd. 

 "We were held up," Edd replied. 

 "By what?"

 "Chains," Grenn answered, holding up his bloody wrists. 

"We were guests of the mutineers at Craster's Keep," Edd added. 

 "And the mutineers stayed?" Jon asked them, bending down, his eyes level to theirs. 

 "They're not going anywhere," Grenn continued. "They've got Craster's food and his wives." 

 "Poor girls," Edd said. "Never thought they'd miss their daddy."  

 "Karl's running things now, he's the one that put a knife through Craster's mouth." 

 Robb noticed that there was a sudden change in Jon's expression. If he had been concerned before, Jon was panicking. Only he could see it. Only he had seen such an expression in Jon before, when they were children and he had broken Catelyn's favorite ornament after playing catch in the great hall with him and Theon. "Jon, is there something wrong?" he asked. 

 "We need to ride north and kill them all," Jon proclaimed. 

 Ser Alliser obviously did not agree with him. "We just went over this, boy, justice can wait." 

 "It's not about justice!" Jon exclaimed. "I told the Wildlings that we had over a thousand men at Castle Black alone. Karl and the others know the truth as well as we do. How long do you think that they'll keep that information to themselves when the Wildlings are peeling their fingernails off? Mance has all he needs to crush us, he just doesn't know it yet. As soon as he gets his hands on them, he will, then he'll throw his full strength at us." Jon gave a look at Obara and asked, "Captain Sand, how many men has His Grace brought with him here?

 "Three thousand currently at Queensgate. More will come if King Robb gives the order," Obara said. 

 "It will take a full day's ride or more from Winterfell," Jon said. "We won't have the time. And even if every one of us kills 30 wildlings each in one night... there's still not a thing we can do to stop them." 

 "I don't think I can kill 30 wildlings in a night," Pyp said.

 "Nym, send word to all the lords in the North, tell them to prepare for any eventuality of a Wildling attack. They've all been properly fed and rested and they should get to work immediately." Robb said to Nymeria. "Obara, go to Queensgate and tell them to double the guard, and move some of their best men to Castle Black. It's the only thing we can do... for now." 

 "Yes, Your Grace," the Sand Snakes said, with their heads bowed before moving on to execute their missions. 

 "I can't do much," Robb told Ser Alliser and Maester Aemon. "But I swear that as long as I'm alive, all of you will still have some hope." 

 Ser Alliser just nodded. To say anything more would be excessive. The Night's Watch were removed from the politics of the Seven Kingdoms, but if the King in the North wants to freeze and die with them, he was welcomed to. 

* * *

 "A woman's armor doesn't necessarily mean armor itself," Ellaria told Brienne as they walked through the marketplace at Sunspear. "Sansa's lady mother, Lady Catelyn, always said that a lady's armor was her courtesy, but it is even more than that. A lady's armor is what she  _is_. What she wears, the words she speaks, her wit and her beauty." 

 "Cersei used to say that a woman's greatest weapons were a tears and what's between her legs," Sansa added, her words laden with sarcasm. 

 "Cersei, although sometimes crazy, is right," Ellaria said. "You, Lady Ambassador, should sometimes heed her. She isn't Queen Regent for so long just because she's cunning, but because she knows how to use them." 

 However, Brienne begged to differ. "Why would a woman ever debase herself to such... tactics?" she asked, probably directing the question to both Ellaria and Sansa. "Doesn't her honor mean anything?"

 "Honor is a word that men use to control everything they have," Ellaria explained. "Their families, their women and their underlings. Honor can't save you when you need saving the most. What men fear the most is what they do not understand and what they cannot predict: a woman who knows that she is free, unchained and unfettered. That is what they fear the most, and when you know that, they can never control you." 

 Brienne raised an eyebrow. "So what does it have to do with me, shopping around for dresses, jewelry and... frilly things?" she asked Ellaria further. 

 "You and Sansa are not standing up against men in Essos," Ellaria said. "You are standing up against a woman. She  _knows_  how to handle men. Women are even harder to deal with than men, my dear Brienne, if you are a woman. Your opponent will have everything you have, tears, tits, cunts... you will need to outsmart her, make her feel less bristled in your company." 

 "That is just silly!" Brienne exclaimed. "So you're saying that as women, we should hide everything that we're capable of, after all the time it takes us to gain those skills, just so that our opponents can underestimate us so we can defeat them? Isn't that hypocritical?"

 "It's how you stay alive, Brienne, when you play the game," Sansa said. "It's how I survived King's Landing." 

 "I'm sorry, Princess, I didn't mean..." 

 "It's alright, Brienne," Sansa added. "It's all part of life, I guess." 

 Those words made Brienne feel as though she was back in her father's keep, being her awkward self again. However, Sansa was not angry with her, nor was Ellaria any disappointed in her. They knew that she was entitled to her own views, and they knew that she was merely venting her frustrations.  

 "So, if a dress can also be an armor, when would that be?" Brienne asked Sansa and Ellaria. "Wait... how am I going to fight if I'm wearing a dress?"

 "You can wear these riding trousers underneath your dresses," Ellaria told Brienne. They can carry everything for you. Straps for knives and daggers, concealed pockets for caltrops and poisons..." As she spoke, she showed Brienne everything about those trousers. "They are worn by Dornish women who take the path of the sword. Seamstress Marnia here, she's my daughters' favorite. She can make the most beautiful evening gowns, and the best armors with chest plates that fit your breasts well." 

 Seamstress  Marnia, a middle-aged woman who was portly with a smiling face said, "When I was a young girl, I was the bodyguard to Prince Oberyn's mother, but when I had my children, I decided to retire from active duty and make a new living. You'll be in good hands." 

 "But I thought they don't make women's clothes for people like me..." 

 "Nonsense!" Seamstress Marnia returned. "It is a seamstress's duty to make clothes for everyone, now come!"

 As Brienne was brought into the back of the shop, Ellaria turned to Sansa. "She is going to be responsible for your life, so we must treat her well," she said. "Brienne has a beautiful sense of duty and honor, you will do good to use it to your advantage." 

 "I will," Sansa said. "Thank you, for everything." She knew that saying those words out of a sudden felt so out of place, but since her fate and duties had already been spelled out to her, she knew that the time of her leaving Dorne was inevitable. Robb and Doran needed her as their ambassador and Oberyn wanted her safe from the Lannisters. If they caught her, then they would use her against them, she could not be a liability. That was why she was going to be shipped off to Meereen, to plead Daenerys Targaryen to bring her dragons to the fight. 

 "I'm going to miss you when you leave," Ellaria said, playing with a lock of Sansa's red hair. "I'm going to miss seeing how you move against Oberyn and I, the taste of our lips with his..." 

 "I'll come back, I swear," she said. "I'll do everything to make sure that happens." 

 Ellaria nodded and kissed her forehead. "I know you will, my love," she said. "Your coming to us in these months was a preparation of who you are meant to be. I might not have your gifts, but I knew when I first saw you, my love. You are meant to do great things. All Oberyn and I can do for you is make sure that you have the skills to do them, either by your mind, by the blade, or... with your charms and wit." 

 "Oberyn thinks that I can entice the Silver Queen if I wanted to," Sansa said. "But I don't think that she's... like us..." 

 "She might or might not be," Ellaria said. "Whatever it is, do not force her or yourself to do what you are not willing to do. That is the only word of caution that I will give you, be it in politics or in the bed." 

 Sansa smiled. It was a great irony to her, that Ellaria held the same political astuteness as Oberyn, Doran or even herself, but she was less than willing to participate in their games. She did not need it, because all she needed was her strange little family around her. Her lover and his family, mixed with their children. Many other women found her strange, and deviant, but Sansa loved her for it. 

 "Now come, we should go and see how well Brienne is doing with Marnia," Ellaria said. "They make quite the interesting pair, no?"

 Giggling, Sansa nodded. "You're doing this not because you want Brienne to look softer and less threatening," she said to Ellaria. "You're doing this because you like to see her suffer in dresses." 

 "Come now, my love, do I look like I enjoy the suffering of others?" Ellaria asked. "It will do her much good and Marnia is a beloved friend of House Martell..." 

 "I look utterly ridiculous," Brienne proclaimed when she came out with Seamstress Marnia. She was wrapped in pins and yards of silk and leather. 

 "That's because I'm not done with the outfit yet," Seamstress Marnia bit back. "You'll have to stand still if you don't want to be stuck by pins." 

 "Ellaria, Princess, are you sure that... ow!" 

 "I told you to hold still, didn't I?"

 Ellaria chuckled and looked towards Sansa. "We will have three sets of those, Marnia, as quickly as you can make them." 

 Marnia thanked Ellaria and Sansa as they passed her the coins needed for the purchase, while Brienne quickly took out every pin that she knew was stuck to her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Jon, even with Robb on the Wall, he's being bullied here and there. 
> 
> Also, please try not to start on any big debate from what you've derived from Brienne's day out with Sansa and Ellaria. Everything that they've said are their views and not mine. 
> 
> I know my posting has been very slow lately. Work's caught up with me and I have no excuse beyond that. 
> 
> Enjoy!


	40. The Greenseers

_It was hot. He was in some sort of arena, filled with hundreds of people, cheering in a language that he did not understand. Ah, he remembered what Maester Luwin called that sort of place, it was a fighting pit. Fighting pits were common in Essos, where slaves and free men from every corner of the world went there to fight one another to the death, a spectacle were thousands would pay in coin to watch. Warriors, wearing different forms of armor, wielding different weapons stepped out of cells on either side of the arena and bowed towards a woman with silver-gold hair, dressed in white. He did not know who the woman was, but he did recognize the woman behind her. It was Sansa! Sansa was watching the woman in white carefully, being very silent. Lady stood by her, casually watching everything that happened in the pit._

_Then, one of the warriors on the pit raised his spear towards the woman in white, but his spear pierced the man behind her. Soon, chaos descended upon the fighting pit. Men in golden masks started to appear and killed everyone in sight. The woman in white, along with Sansa and the rest of her attendants started to descend from their special pavilion, and ran towards the many gates around the arena, where there were Targaryen flags all over it. Wait... Targaryen flags? Where was Sansa anyway?_

_It didn't matter, for soon, the woman in white, Sansa and the others were cornered.  They tried door after door, but everywhere, the masked men surrounded them, herding them towards the center of the arena. The woman in white looked at the dark-skinned girl beside her, and then at Sansa. The three of them held hands while the men around them continued to fight off their attackers._ _They closed their eyes, ready to accept death._

_A deafening roar filled the sky, followed by a column of fire._

* * *

 

 Bran woke up startled. Usually, the dreams that he had seen with his gifts were of the three-eyed crow, and not anything else. This time though, he saw Sansa, in a different part of the world that he could not recognize, surrounded by Targaryen flags and out of a sudden, a dragon flew in, burning everything in sight. No one would believe what he saw, not even Jojen or Meera.

 "You know, it  _is_  possible," Meera said. "Our Father said that when the Lannisters sacked King's Landing, Viserys  Targaryen and Queen Rhaella, who was pregnant with Daenerys, were spirited to Dragonstone. When King Robert sent his brother Stannis to Dragonstone, the Targaryens escaped. The woman in white you saw, she could be Daenerys Targaryen already grown-up." 

 "What does my sister Sansa have  _anything_  to do with the Targaryens?" Bran asked. "Isn't she in King's Landing, held by the Lannisters?"

 "We've been in the wilds for so long, Bran, who knows what could have happened to your sister?" Jojen returned. "You can't do anything about her. If she's in a fighting pit, she's in Essos, and not even the three-eyed crow can fly that far to reach her in time." 

 Bran sighed. "I know," he said, a little sad. "I just hope that she's safe." 

 "You Starks are well-protected by the Old Gods," Meera comforted him. "Don't worry." 

Then, they heard a fell voice in the cold, night air. Hodor heard it, and he was startled. "Hodor!" he exclaimed, looking around him in fear. 

 "Is that a baby?" Meera asked. 

 Jojen could not confirm if it was. However whatever it was, it was approaching them rather quickly. "It's coming," he said to the others. 

 "I'm going out there," Bran said. 

 "No, we have to stay together!" Meera countered. 

 Bran ignored Meera and started to warg into Summer. Once he could see with Summer's eyes, he made Summer move forwards, where the baby's cries were louder and louder. However, he did not find any baby, but a familiar sight. A white direwolf, locked in a shed. It was Ghost... He could have approached Ghost, but he was immediately cast out of Summer's mind. 

 "Bran!" Meera called towards him when he was awake. 

 "Summer, he's hurt," Bran proclaimed. "They've caught him in a trap." 

 "Who?"

 "I didn't see, but they have my brother's wolf. They have Ghost!" 

 The next morning, they followed the trail that Summer had left, which led them into something like a large hut with several other huts surrounding them. There were women, their expressions sad and empty, walking around, mixed with men dressed fully in black. 

 "They're Night's Watch, look!" Bran exclaimed. "Jon might be here." 

 Meera disagreed with him. "If Jon was here, why would they put his wolf in a cage?" she asked. 

 It was a valid reason, thus, they continued their watch. The men were obviously unwelcome in a way. The women were whimpering whenever they touched them. 

 "They might have been Night's Watch once, not anymore," Meera said, after seeing how the women were treated. "We're not safe here... We need to go." 

 "No," Bran challenged. "I'm not leaving without Summer." 

 Meera and Jojen shared a look, and finally Meera relented. "Do you remember where the cage was?" she asked Bran. 

 "The east side of the keep,"

 Meera nodded and stood up, starting to leave for the cage, saying, "If I'm not back soon, we'll meet..." She was struck in the head by the blunt of someone's sword, and fell unconscious. Before Hodor could do anything, they were already surrounded. 

 Jojen, Bran and Meera were brought into the main hut, where a thin man with small, beady eyes sat on a large chair, surrounded by his lackeys. 

 "Help him up," the man said, when the others left Bran flat on his face. The man walked towards him, feeling the material of the clothes he wore. "This is nice... fine leather. You're important, highborn. Who are you?"

 Bran did not answer. He knew that if he did, he would have given away their position. With Robb fighting in the South, claiming independence of the North, he would have been an easy target for any enemy of their family. For his silence, Bran was slapped by the man, so hard that his lip split. 

 "You see, where I come from, a commoner like me slaps a little lord like you, I'd lose my right hand," the man explained. "But we're a long way from home, aren't we?" He turned towards Meera and Jojen. "And the two of you... fancy looking folks north of the Wall, creeping through the woods. Isn't that a bit odd?"

 He then started to reach for Meera's hair. "I like your curls," he said. "My mom had curls like that, beautiful brown curls. Why'd you drag a crippled boy all the way up here?" Meera only grimaced in anger. She did not appreciate the way he was touching her. "See, you haven't played this game before. A highborn hostage,  _that's_  valuable," he said, pointing at Bran. "But three of them... that's a lot of mouths to feed." 

 Jojen started to slump to the floor and froth at the mouth. He was having another Greensight vision. Meera sought to go to him, lest he bite off his own tongue, but she was held back by the man. "Please, let me go to him," Meera begged. 

 "Who are you?" the man demanded. Meera did not answer, but continued to beg him to free her from his hold. "Who are you?"

 At that point, Bran knew that there was no turning back. "I'm Brandon Stark!" he answered. "I'm Brandon Stark of Winterfell!" 

 "It's Jon Snow's brother!" one of the men exclaimed, looking right at him. 

 Having had his answer, the man sheathed his dagger, letting Meera tend to Jojen. "And I thought this was gonna be another boring day..." 

* * *

 

 "Bran!" 

 Sansa woke up in cold sweat, taking sharp intakes of air. Her awakening was so sudden that she had startled Ellaria and Oberyn. Even Lady, who was sleeping on the floor, next to their large bed was startled, whimpering at Sansa. 

 "My love, what is it?" Ellaria asked her, turning her head to face her, while Oberyn kissed her shoulder. "What did you see?"

 Tears welled in her eyes. "I... I saw Bran..." Sansa said, stroking Lady's head. "He's North of the Wall, with two other children and Hodor, a simpleton from home. He was in a Wildling keep... The Night's Watch... men from the Night's Watch were holding them hostage... 

 "That's impossible," Oberyn said. "Men of the Night's Watch do not take highborn children hostage, at either side of the Wall. Unless, those men have gone rogue."

 "Robb's at the Wall now, he  _has_  to know this," Sansa said, almost jumping off the bed to find pen and paper to write Robb a message. "Robb and Jon will find him." 

 "Sansa..." Ellaria said, trying to calm her down. Sansa had already found some paper and ink, but she was shaking so furiously that she almost spilled the inkpot. They had learned that Sansa would often be visibly... shaken after each vision. It was as if she was drowning and had suddenly received a gasp of air. She would become almost comatose when she was having her visions, her eyes would turn white and cloudy, and more a short moment, she would not have the strength to stand. "My love... you must take time to recover first, no?"

 "We don't  _have_  time," Sansa rebutted. "I don't know if it's happening now, or it's already happened..." 

 "Sansa, if they know who Bran is, they will not be so foolish as to killing him immediately," Oberyn said, walking over to Sansa, gently removing the quill from her hand. Gently, he kissed each of her hand and held them in his. It was strange... she was still shaking. "Write the letter in the morning, my love. Come back to bed." 

 In the very least, Sansa relented. She let Oberyn carry her back to the bed, and she buried herself in his embrace. Ellaria put her arms around her waist, and she closed her eyes. What did she do to deserve the two of them? "Oh, my love," Ellaria cooed. "You are strong, and you must remain so for your family." 

 "We will speak to the Maester," Oberyn suggested. "We shall tell him to send a raven directly to Castle Black, to act in all haste." 

 "First thing in the morning," Sansa stressed. "Please, wake me up..." 

 "Yes, my love," Ellaria said, gently humming a lullaby into her ear, singing until she slept. After Sansa was deep asleep, she looked towards Oberyn, who looked even more perplexed than he had let on. She did not need telling to know that his thoughts lingered on Sansa. Something had happened, something that they had never realized before. Their Sansa was filled with so much fire, but yet after each vision, her skin would grow cold, and her breathing would be unstable. She had recovered quickly the first few times before.  But this time... this time, she was still shaking, even though she was sound asleep, when she saw Daenerys Targaryen before the pyramids of Meereen, she had taken just as long to recover, but this time, she had gone to sleep still cold and shaking. "I fear for her, lover," she told Oberyn. "This gift that she has, it is not a gift at all. It is a curse. The more she sees..." 

 Oberyn could only nod silently. He knew the effects of the Greensight on her more than anyone. Yet, he knew that it was one of the few advantages that they had over their enemies. Sansa could see through space and time. She could see what has yet to happen with such clarity that their reports would come faster that Varys' whispers. She could even see through the glamors maintained by Faceless Men... S"Greensight is a gift that the Children of the Forest had," he explained to Ellaria. "Very few humans could have it, and nothing is known about those who actually do. We do not know what will happen to her in the long term, if she continues to use her powers as she does now." 

 "The Gods are cruel," Ellaria spat. "To bless her with such a gift, one that gives her so much power and yet takes her away from us, bit by bit." 

 "The Gods _are_ cruel," Oberyn agreed. "But we must make sure that she knows no more bitterness. Our Sansa has suffered so much, that we should endeavor to give her the victory she deserves." He had sworn to her that he would protect her, but he did not know how to protect her from herself, from her own destiny. He heaved a sigh of relief when her breathing had returned to normal, and some of her color had returned. There was once that he had hoped that he would have the fortune to grow old with her, to give her sons and daughters if she so wished, but now he hoped that she would live to see the glory of their victories. If he could, he would ask the Gods to take their gift to her back, so that she could live a life of quiet. 

 As much as he wanted to, he knew that it was impossible. All they could do was to move with what has been given to them. Looking at his sleeping wife, he swore to her in silence that he would give her every happiness that was his to grant her. It had pained him to see her so eager, so eager to help her family, to find her place in the world, yet at such a terrible cost. He remembered when they were in Volantis, how she had shone in the presence of the Triach Maegyr, how eloquently she had spoken of her brother's pursuits and the nature of Westeros, how she had comforted Talisa's mother... Sansa was  _meant_  for politics, she was meant to take on her role. 

 Now all he could do was to hold her, to cherish every moment he had with her. In another life, in a different Westeros, perhaps he would have went all the way to Winterfell to beg Ned Stark for her hand to mend the wounds between their families. He could do little else. 

* * *

 "Lord Tywin, reports have returned... Sansa Stark was not in any of the Martell wheelhouses," Lancel Lannister reported to Tywin. Lannister spies throughout Westeros had brought in reports, saying that they had spotted wheelhouses bearing the Martell and Stark sigils. There were four in total, but Lancel had only brought him to see three of them, each stuck with arrows, but in otherwise pristine condition. 

 "What about the fourth?" Tywin asked. "Where is it?"

 Lancel gulped. "It... it was last seen at Lannisport, aboard a ship heading North," he answered. "There was no news about it after that." 

 Tywin scowled. "We have been duped, then," he said. "Send for Tyrion. Tell him to meet me in my study immediately." 

 Lancel nodded and bowed, hurrying off to find his son. The Martells were testing his patience. They have more than enough reason to. But what was their goal? Vengeance? Oberyn Martell already had what he wanted: the death of Gregor Clegane for Elia's rape and murder. Joffrey's cruelty to Sansa? He had already paid it with his death. What more could they want? With Myrcella in their hands, he knew that his actions could not be too drastic. Cersei might have been a fool, but she loved her children. If anything was to happen to the surviving two, she would descend into a spiral that could be a detriment to all his plans, and he could not risk it. 

 "I heard about the carriages," Tyrion said. "It seems that Sansa Stark is still safely in Dorne, then." 

 "She might be, or she might not," Tywin replied. "One of the carriages escaped our agents. It took off from Sunspear, stopping at Lannisport where we'd never think to look. It might well be on its way North now." 

 "So, you still want me to go to Dorne then?" Tyrion asked. 

 "Yes," Tywin answered. "If Sansa Stark is not there, we will call our banners and strike Sunspear if we have to." 

 Tyrion disagreed with his father. "I still don't think that it's wise to attack Dorne in retaliation over so trivial a thing," he reasoned. "What if she's on another trip to Essos with Prince Oberyn?"

 "The last time she went on a trip to Essos, the Volantene fleet was raised in Robb Stark's name. I do not think that it is a coincidence," Tywin shot back. "Dorne always had trading relations with Volantis, and House Martell has cordial relations with House Maegyr, who have successfully been Triachs for many years now..." 

 "Alright, so I go to Dorne," Tyrion said, relenting. "What happens if she's still there? What should we do then?"

 "Take Myrcella back with you and make it clear that Prince Trystane is to follow her," Tywin said. "We'll offer Oberyn's seat on the Small Council to him. If Doran wouldn't come to King's Landing then let his son come." By bringing Prince Trystane to King's Landing, Myrcella's role as hostage would be reversed. Their betrothal would still stand, but now Trystane would be insurance against any Dornish insurgence against the Crown. Dorne was brought into the fold by marriage, and it would always be bound to the Crown thusly. Let them have their hedonistic ways, let them worship however they wanted, but their freedoms would always be guarded by a scion of House Martell. It was what bound them to the Targaryens and it would be what binds them to Houses Lannister and Baratheon. "If they refuse, we shall test their claims if Dorne really has fifty thousand spears hiding in its deserts." 

 Tyrion nodded. "The ship's going to be ready to sail in three days," he said. "Just wait for my reports. Don't do anything before you receive them." 

 "Who do you take me for?" Tywin huffed, offended that Tyrion would even think that he would act rashly, as though he had not known him at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, Bran makes a debut in the fic! I do realize that there's no need for Locke to be in the Night's Watch at all, since well, the Mormonts practically killed off the Boltons under Robb's orders. So there's that. 
> 
> Yes, that scene that Bran saw is the Fighting Pit scene in Dance of the Dragons as in Season 5 Episode 9. I like to think that while Sansa can more or less see what happens in real time, but in faraway places, Bran can see the future. 
> 
> Might Greensight cause Sansa any true detriment? Well, no one can be sure yet. It could just be a scare, or... it could not. 
> 
> Enjoy!


	41. New Ventures

 "Your Grace, there is a raven for you," Sam Tarley told Robb while he was sparring with Jon and Grenn, the three of them teaching the new recruits to fight. "Maester Aemon wants to hand the message to you personally." 

 Robb nodded and placed his training blade back into the cart and clapped both Jon and Grenn on their forearms before leaving with Sam. "You spend a lot of time with Maester Aemon, don't you, Sam?" he asked Sam as they went up to Maester Aemon's tower. "Have you ever thought of becoming a Maester yourself?"

 "Well... not really, Your Grace," Sam answered with a small smile. "I mean... we're gonna need every man we have here and someone's gonna have to help Maester Aemon too." 

 Robb smiled and nodded. "I understand," he said. "Well, there's always that option for you though. The Night's Watch doesn't only need warriors, Sam, it needs builders and cooks, healers and even accountants. When Maester Aemon passes, everything that he once looked after would fall into into disarray. You'll have to prepare for any... eventuality." 

 "I know," Sam returned. "But..." 

 "If it's the payment for your studies, Sam, you needn't worry. I will sponsor every penny." 

 Sam's expression lightened up immediately. "Do... do you really mean it, Your Grace?" he asked. Studying to be a Maester was no cheap venture. Yes, the Night's Watch would willingly fork out any amount of money for a replacement Maester should Maester Aemon pass on, but, the cost of his tuition alone would have bought many bushels of good wheat and vegetables. 

 "Every penny, Sam, and nothing less," Robb answered. "You've been a good friend to Jon up here, and it's all I can do to repay you." 

 "Your Grace... I..." 

 "Think of it as a brother's thanks," Robb said. "Jon would not have survived without you, Grenn or Edd with that brash, thick skull of his, that much I can see. I am indebted to all of you, truly." 

 Sam smiled and nodded. They had already reached Maester Aemon's door and he helped him to open it. "In you go, Your Grace," Sam said. 

 "Ah, Your Grace," Maester Aemon said. "Welcome, welcome. Please, have a seat." 

 "You can call me 'Robb', Maester Aemon, there's no need to stand on ceremony here," Robb said. Maester Aemon was probably the oldest person Robb had ever met. He was frail and blind, and there was really no need to subject him to any formality at all. "Sam said that you wanted to see me?"

 "Yes, I did," Maester Aemon said. "There was a raven for you that just arrived from Dorne, so I think that it would be better that you were the one who read the messages it carried." 

 "Messages?" Robb asked. "It carried more than one?"

 "One from your sister, Princess Sansa," Maester Aemon said, holding up the first message. "And another from her husband, Prince Oberyn." 

 Robb furrowed his brow. Why would Sansa send him one message and Oberyn another? He first read Sansa's message, where she told him that she had a vision of Bran and two other children his age being held captive north of the Wall by what seemed like those of the Night's Watch who had gone rogue, while Oberyn had warned him about the overuse of Sansa's abilities. He said that Sansa was taking longer to recover after each successive vision... 

 "Robb? What's the matter?" Maester Aemon asked when he noticed Robb's sudden silence. 

 "My brother Bran, he's north of the Wall," Robb said. "Sansa saw him with her Greensight, held in Craster's Keep, but... Oberyn said that the power weakens her..." 

 Maester Aemon sighed. "Greenseers are rare among humans, even among the First Men, no record of one exists, so no one can know what truly happens to them," he said. "I pray that the Gods are kind to those whom they have bestowed their gifts upon." 

 "Thank you, Maester Aemon," Robb said. "I really appreciate it." 

 "No, thank you, Robb," Maester Aemon said. "I was starting to fear that no one would come to the Wall when you answered that raven. You have given the Night's Watch the hope that it needs to live on. We might say that we are removed from the affairs of the Seven Kingdoms, but we are indebted to you, the King in the North." 

 Robb clasped Maester Aemon's hand and said, "It's what I should do, Maester Aemon. My responsibility as a Stark." 

 "What will you do now?" Maester Aemon asked him. 

 "I have to get to Bran," he said. "With or without the help of the Night's Watch." 

 "Go with the blessings of the Gods, Robb," he said. "May you find your brother." 

 When Robb had gotten back down, the afternoon meal had already been served. "Any news from Papa?" Nymeria asked him. 

 Robb nodded. "Sansa has had another vision, and it has to do with Bran," he said. 

 A sigh of relief escaped from the Sand Snakes. "Nym's heard whispers that the Lannisters are sending the Imp to Sunspear. If they cannot find Sansa there, they will march their men to Dorne." 

 "We won't be able to reach Dorne in time if that happens," Nymeria added.

 Robb steeled his expression. Obara and Nymeria were fierce warriors that belied every formerly-held notion about women who took to the sword. They were just as capable as any man. They also loved their family. "No, we won't," Robb told them. "Sansa won't be leaving for Essos anytime soon, don't worry." He stopped speaking when he saw Ser Alliser approaching him. 

"When Jon comes, I will tell him my decision about Craster's Keep," Ser Alliser said. "You can join him if you want." 

Robb knew that Ser Alliser was  _waiting_  for the mutineers to do away with Jon. He knew that the Acting Lord Commander of the Night's Watch did not like Jon at all. Jon had been hand-chosen to be Mormont's successor, he had the support of the rest of the Black Brothers. For the matter, Ser Alliser was not very fond of him either, but it mattered little. 

He sat down with Obara and Nymeria while the Blackfish went to fetch them some ale. They ate and drank in quiet until Jon came up. "Your foray to Craster's Keep, I'll sanction it," Ser Alliser told Jon. "But I won't order anyone to go with you. Volunteers only." 

 "Thank you, Ser Alliser," Jon said, before casting a knowing glance to Robb. He started to speak, but everyone was so busy eating, he could not catch their attention. Nymeria took pity on him and cracked her whip high over her head, while Grenn pounded his cup onto the table to catch their attention. 

 "I'm going beyond the Wall to Craster's Keep," he told his brothers, sworn and half alike. "I'm going to capture the the mutineers holed up there or kill them... I'm asking for volunteers to come with me." Everyone looked at one another in silence. There were some who continued with their meal, unperturbed by his words. "There's 60 miles of wilderness between here and Craster's and Mance Rayder has an army bearing down on us, but we have to do this. Our survival might depend on us getting to these mutineers before Mance does. They know the Wall, they know our defenses. If Mance learns what they know, we're lost." 

 Still, everyone was silent. No one spoke, because they knew that what he said was true. There was a strange smile on Robb, one that Jon had never seen before. One that was strangely reflected upon the Sand Snakes as well.  It was that look that Father gave Robb when they were growing up. It was...  _approval_ , something that he had never received in his whole life. 

 "If that's not enough," he continued, "then consider this. If the Night's Watch are truly brothers, then Lord Commander Mormont was our father. He lived and died for the Watch and he was betrayed by his own men, stabbed in the back by cowards. He deserved far better. All we can give him now is justice... Who will join me?"

 Grenn was the first to rise, followed by Edd. Once they rose, many others did too. Even Robb and the Sand Snakes. 

 "What do you think you're doing?" the Blackfish asked Robb. "This has  _nothing_  to do with you!" 

 "That's my brother out there, Uncle Brynden. What will the world say when the Night's Watch rally around Jon and I just sat here? They're his sworn brothers, I am at least his real one." Robb returned. 

 "I can't let you come with us, Robb," Jon said. "You're too... important." 

 "Don't worry," Obara said. "Nym and I will watch over him. We're coming too." 

 "Thank you, brothers," he said, before his gaze fell to Obara and Nymeria. "And you too, Obara and Nymeria." 

 They gave him a playful wink, one that he had tried to avoid, giving the rest of them a good chuckle. Robb walked towards him and said, "Walk with me." 

 When they were in a quiet part of the castle, Jon exclaimed. "You're mad! You're the King in the North. If anything happens to you out there... who's gonna lead your armies?"

 "Shh, they'll hear you!" Robb hushed him, covering Jon's mouth with his hand. "There was word from Dorne. Sansa's had another vision. She saw Bran in Craster's Keep with two other children, held there by your mutineers with Hodor. I'm going because there's a chance that we might save him." 

 "Bran!" Jon exclaimed. "I thought..." 

 "There are many things that you don't know yet. The world still thinks that Bran and Rickon are dead," Robb said. "They're safer assumed dead, that's for sure. We  _have_  to make sure that Bran is alive and have him somewhere safe. If we can find Bran, we can find Rickon for sure." 

 "Alright, you can come," Jon said. "But you can't slow us down. We wouldn't wait for you if you do." 

 "Slow you down?" Robb asked. "Perhaps you won't be able to keep up with me." 

* * *

 50000 spears. 

 Did Dorne really have 50000 spears?

 If Dorne really had that many soldiers, how did they feed them all? Unlike the Reach, which was fertile and rich, Dorne was nothing but desert and a few oases between said deserts. Their population was also one of the fewest in Westeros. So  _how_  was it possible for Dorne to have such a great army?

 Those questions swarmed in Tyrion Lannister's head as the ship navigated through the Narrow Sea from Blackwater Bay to Sunspear. He did not get it at all. 

 First and foremost, Dorne was well-known to be the most neutral of all regions. They had only fought by the Mad King's side during Robert's Rebellion because of Princess Elia's marriage to Rhaegar Targaryen. If they had a choice, Dorne would never participate in any of the wars in Westeros. However, this time around, House Martell had made the first move by marrying Sansa Stark. For all she was, Sansa was the key to the Northand the Martells had the foresight to marry her to Oberyn. What made them do it? He did not know.

 What he knew was that Sansa  _blossomed_  under Oberyn Martell and that saucy paramour of his. Just shortly after marrying Oberyn, she had become more confident, standing tall in court, a thing which she had never done before. Sansa had always been strong, but she had masked her strength when Joffrey was alive. After she became a Dornish princess, she cast off that mask and even dared to face Cersei head-on openly albeit silently. 

 A shiver went through Tyrion's spine, if Sansa should ever return to Winterfell. Would she be known as Princess Sansa Stark of the North and of Dorne if that ever happened? A Dornish alliance with the North frightened him, and he knew that it gave his father more than a few goosebumps than he cared to acknowledge. It was why he was on the ship on the first place. 

 Robb Stark had forty thousand men, and if Dorne  _did_  have fifty thousand, it would mean that their numbers would be greater than the current Lannister-Tyrell alliance. Of course, numbers alone did not dictate victory, but Robb Stark was getting more and more experienced and the Martells... genius in war was in their blood. 

 For the sake of his family's survival, he hoped that everything went on smoothly in Dorne. 

 "What's going to go wrong?" Bronn asked him as he moped on the deck the day they were due to arrive in Sunspear. "You'll see the little dove again, nab your niece and her betrothed back to King's Landing and call it a day." 

 "What if she's not there?" Tyrion asked. "My father will split the army and charge towards Sunspear. What if Robb Stark's actually in the Riverlands, lying in wait for this moment?"

 Bronn shrugged. "I wouldn't think so," he said. "The lad doesn't seem to be any sort like your father. If Lord Varys says that he's in the North, he's in the North." 

 "I don't even understand why the Dornish chose Sansa for a bride," Tyrion said. "Her aunt Lyanna was the cause of Robert's Rebellion and now they parade her niece like a rare jewel." 

 "You know, you've always liked her," Bronn said. "You're just sore that the Red Viper got to her first." 

 "I most certainly do  _not_ ," Tyrion shot back, almost shocked. "She's still a girl." 

 "By the looks of how the Prince and his paramour held her when they were back at King's Landing? I don't think so." 

 Tyrion decided that there would be no benefit for him if he continued the conversation. He took a large gulp of wine from his cup and looked towards the sea. He could already see Castle Sunspear. He did not know if his arrival in Dorne would be announced by his father, or if the Martells would be there, or in their famous Water Gardens. With the amount of uncertainty that surrounded them, he could never be sure. The one thing that he was sure of was that Dorne was hot. The air was dry and the sun beat upon them. 

 "Tell me, Bronn, how would you take Sunspear if you had a great host under your command?" Tyrion asked Bronn. 

 "I won't," Bronn said. "This place is a fucking desert and the Dornish  _kn_ owtheir lands. The only way to do it was to make it an inside job," Bronn answered. "Have the Dornish hand Dorne to you." 

 "That would be the last thing that happened," he said. "Dorne's noble houses are unfalteringly loyal to House Martell. They're so far away from anyone else for anyone to hold sway on them." The Dornish houses also grew rich together with the Martells, foregoing trade with their counterparts in Westeros, but directly dealing with traders in the Free Cities, given their proximities to Lys, Volantis and even Myr. "On the other hand, one reason why they're so close to one another is that they've been fucking each other over in every manner possible that they're practically family." 

 Knowing that they could well lose their heads if Tyrion had said those last words within the earshot of any Dornishman, Bronn laughed and laughed. "You'll be fine out there," Bronn reassured Tyrion. "In most ways, you live like them too. You drink like them, you fuck like them... You'll practically a brother to them." 

 "I was actually counting on that," Tyrion said, thanking Bronn for reminding him. "The plan's to go into Castle Sunspear half-drunk, with two beautiful women at either side of me... That's... the stupidest idea I've ever come up with." 

 "Could've fooled me though," Bronn said. "Ah, don't get your smallclothes in a twist. You've always had a good plan, right? Just go along with whatever you have in that little head of yours and you'll be fine. You've escaped worse things before..." 

 Tyrion sighed. "That's the thing I'm afraid of," he said. "You see, that's my secret: I never had a plan." He had always,  _always_  played things by ear. He was never one to plot and simmer, but was always a reactionary man. In that respect, he admitted that he was more like Jaime and Cersei. Cersei would always look at situations like a chessboard. She would brood for hours and hours, wondering what her opponents' next move may be. The thing about Cersei was that she always guessed wrong. She never could get a good grasp of any situation she was in because she was always on the offensive, never thinking about the motivations of others. 

 "Well, you'll just have to continue rolling with it, I suppose," Bronn said, looking out into the wide, open water. "Well, would you look at that? These people really do like to have a good time." 

 "What?" Tyrion asked Bronn, due to his height, he could not see much over the railing of the deck. "What do you see?"

 "A man's fucking two girls right there on the beach," he said. "That lucky bastard. I've got to hand it to ya, the Dornish do have their own particular style." 

 Tyrion heaved a great sigh. He had no interest in what other people did. "Well, I guess we'll be at port soon. I'd best get ready to see the Martells." 

 "You aren't watching this?" Bronn asked. 

 "Nope, enjoy the show, though!" 

 "Alright..."

 What Tyrion did not know that one of the girls he saw had red hair that looked like fire, her skin taking a slight copper glaze, a sign that she had been born with very fair skin. Bronn had seen many blondes, many girls with dark hair, but very, very few redheads. The last time he saw one, in all honesty, was during Tyrion's trial by combat, where he swore the Queen would have wanted her dead instead of the Mountain. 

But... Tyrion did not need to know that. He would just watch as the show unfolded. It wasn't every day to see one of the most beautiful women in Westeros being fucked by both her husband and his paramour on the beach. Or was it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Robb and Jon find Bran, Jojen and Meera? Stick around to find out! 
> 
> I like to think that if Robb really did live to see the end of the war, he'd be the nicest guy to Jon's friends just because they took care of him and stopped him from being killed (that dreaded episode notwithstanding). 
> 
> I also do like the fact that Tyrion has somewhat of a big crush on Sansa. Shae saw it in the series, Bronn knew it too..
> 
> That being said, Bronn was just being naughty. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> P.S: This chapter's pop culture reference goes to the first Avengers film.


	42. The Visitor

 "Lord Tyrion Lannister has landed in Dorne," Brienne told Sansa, Oberyn and Ellaria. They were in Sansa's chambers, having just returned from the beach, their bodies filled with sand, laughing and chuckling with one another. She did  _not_  want to know what they have been doing there, although she could make a few educated guesses that they had the moment of their lives. "Prince Doran has asked the three of you if you would be so kind in accompanying him in welcoming our guest." 

 

 "We'll be there in fifteen minutes," Sansa promised Brienne, who nodded and went back into the hallway to wait for them. "I  _told_  you two that the ship at the beach was Lord Tyrion's. What if he saw us?" she fretted. Making love with her two lovers under the sun was one thing, but in full view of an incoming ship was another. 

 Ellaria chuckled and helped Sansa to brush her hair. "My love, I don't think that he could see anything from the ship with his height." Sansa had thrown her a scandalized look, but continued to look back into the mirror, searching for a pair of earrings that would suit her dress. "This one," Ellaria said, pointing to the pair of studs made of pearl. "When it doubt, always go for pearls." Sansa did not understand that logic. Her days with Lady Olenna Tyrell had taught her that ostentatiousness was a weapon. Diamonds, emeralds and rubies were knives that women used against one another. Pearl was more abundant, found even in White Harbour in the North. "You want to  _welcome_  Lord Tyrion. You don't want to scare him back to King's Landing. Save the precious stones for others. Besides, he was kind to you, no?"

 At those words, Sansa nodded. "Yes, he was," she answered. Just then, Oberyn had walked towards them from his wardrobe, already changed while Ellaria went to her rooms to change as well. He seemed to favor reds now, Sansa realized. Rich, but dark reds, reds that seemed to go strangely well with the greys and lilacs that she favored since coming to Dorne. Sometimes, their clothing were designed to mirror one another's, as befitting for newly weds. 

 "You look beautiful, as always," Oberyn whispered into her ear after pressing a kiss on Ellaria's forehead. He held her by her shoulders, looking straight at their reflection in her mirror. "Perhaps we should have our portrait done," he said. "We are a great match, are we not?"

 "We are," she affirmed, looking intently at him as he caressed the pendant that he had given her. "There hasn't been a princess as lucky as I." 

 "That's because there hasn't been a princess like you," he said, glad that she had finally come to terms with what she actually was. In King's Landing, she was only a Dornish princess, a title bestowed upon her by their marriage, but in Dorne and in the North, she was a princess of two lands. "Look at you, a Northern princess who has embraced the radiant southern sun. You are the stuff of nightmares for the Lannisters. It's a pity that your favorite Cersei could not come with the Imp. Imagine her angry face when she sees you a princess twice-over." 

 Sansa gulped at the very mention of Cersei. She had never saw herself as Cersei's rival, nor would she ever would, but the world and Cersei herself seem to think it. She once thought that Cersei would one day be her mother-in-law, but now she neither feared nor hated her, despite the fact that Cersei tried to have her killed twice. "Lord Tyrion will have to tell her everything," she said. "I hope that you will be kind to him. Lord Tyrion has shown me a lot of... decency compared to the rest of his family." 

 Oberyn kissed her forehead in promise. "Lord Tyrion interests me as well, my love," he told her. "Don't worry, no harm will come to home unless he brings it upon himself." 

 "Before you came, I almost  _died_  when I heard that there was a rumor that Lord Tywin wanted me married to Lord Tyrion," Sansa told him. "It happened when someone... found out that the Tyrells wanted to match me with Ser Loras." 

 "Then I should thank the Gods that I made the first move," Oberyn replied. 

 "I would have bitten my tongue if anything like that ever happened to me," she added. "Lord Tyrion is kind, but..." She never wanted to be associated with  _any_  of the Lannisters in whatever manner. Joffrey and Cersei's treatment of her was already enough. 

 "What about the rumor I heard about Littlefinger having an interest in you?" Oberyn asked.  _That_ , in the mind of any strategist, was the most dangerous pairing ever. It was dangerous for the Realm, and most likely dangerous for Sansa. 

 "He's not... really interested in me," Sansa said, her tone changed to one of denial. "He's just always helping me because he loved my mother..." 

 "Littlefinger's not yet made a move ever since he married your Aunt Lysa," Oberyn reminded her. "His motives are clear: he wants to dominate as much of Westeros as possible using the easiest means possible. Your mother must always be cautious."

 "Do you think that he will seek to use Mother in his plans?" Sansa asked. She did not understand. "How does he think he can manipulate everything from the Vale?" 

 "Nothing is certain yet," Oberyn said. Littlefinger had only become so powerful because no one would suspect him. A lesser lord whose lineage counted for nothing was never an evident threat. Noted for his ability to come up with whatever coin the Crown needed, he had been a friend to all. Him becoming the lord of Harrenhall all of a sudden was ultimately suspicious to Dorne. Him marrying Lysa Arryn was another move that bristled the hairs on Oberyn and Doran's necks. In two moves, he had became one of the greatest lords in the Seven Kingdoms, and they shuddered to imagine what would happen next. 

 Sansa sighed. "Come, let's go," she said. "We'll be in here all day if we're really going to discover the plots of everyone in the game." 

 "As the Princess commands," Oberyn said, holding her hand as they walked out of their chambers. 

* * *

  Tyrion Lannister sat with Prince Doran in one of the private living areas of Castle Sunspear. He was given a seat on the chaise adjacent to Doran, who was flanked by his son Trystane and Myrcella, while Bronn sat on the opposite chaise all by himself. "Forgive my brother and my sister," Doran said. "They come and go like the wind these days. I can hardly keep track of them." 

  "Oh, I can wait a bit," Tyrion said. "They're newly weds, so who can blame them?" 

 "The Gods work in strange ways," Doran said. "For years, everyone has tried to entice Oberyn with the notion of a wife, but he was adamant that Ellaria and their daughters were enough for him. Then one day, he heard rumor that Sansa Stark and her hair that was kissed by fire, how she was so beautiful that Ser Loras Tyrell thought her to be a good match, he begged me to write that letter to your father." 

 Tyrion could not help but smile. "La... Princess Sansa's beauty is somewhat rare," he said, almost forgetting that Sansa was now a princess. "How is she doing here?"

 "Very well, Lord Tyrion, thank you for asking," Doran said. "Ah, here they come now." 

 Tyrion turned towards the archway to find Sansa, dressed in a beautifully cut Dornish gown but in Northern grey. Of course, it had to be one that bared her arms. The low-cut neckline of the dress enabled her to show off her pendant that depicted the sigils of Houses Martell and Stark, as well as that strange undergarment Dornish ladies wore. Oberyn on the other hand, made it abundantly clear that he was the luckiest man in the world. He held Sansa's hand in his, but clutched Ellaria's waist as they walked towards them. A man with a beautiful young wife, a sultry paramour and eight daughters is a man to be greatly envied. 

 "Lord Tyrion, it is so good to see you again," Sansa greeted Tyrion first, giving him friendly kisses on either side of his cheek, while Oberyn and Ellaria gave him polite nods. "I hope that you are well?"

 "Oh, I'm brilliant, my dear Princess," Tyrion replied. "Marriage suits you, I see," he said, looking towards Oberyn. He did not have the chance to speak to Oberyn at all regarding his marriage to Sansa in King's Landing and now was a good a time as any. 

 "Of course it does, Lord Tyrion," Oberyn replied. "I cannot imagine having to compete with other men for her hand. I have yet to thank your father for his timely... agreement to our match."

 As they spoke, Sansa turned towards Bronn. "And how are you, Ser Bronn?" Sansa greeted him. "Are you still serving beside Lord Tyrion?"

 "I'm doin' good, Princess," Bronn replied, quite surprised that Sansa would acknowledge him at all. "Yeah, just stickin' to good ol' Lord Tyrion, for old time's sake." In fact, he was actually surprised that she would actually acknowledge him at all. She had seemed to be... slightly afraid of him when they were in King's Landing, and rightly so, too. But... Tyrion was right. There was some change in her. She was braver, more confident. It was a good change, he supposed. 

 "I am glad to hear that," she continued. "Lord Tyrion needs a good help like you as well." 

 The rest of the afternoon went by quite well. Sansa and Oberyn offered to show Tyrion and Bronn everything that was to see in Sunspear, finally settling in a local tavern that had pretty barmaids that had plenty of opportunities for side incomes. "You are doing very well for yourself, Princess," Tyrion said to Sansa over a full glass of wine. "About half a year ago, you were Lady Sansa, held in King's Landing at the King's pleasure, and now you are Princess Sansa with Brienne of Tarth as your sworn sword." 

 "I am grateful that the Gods gave me Oberyn and Ellaria," Sansa said, almost as prettily as she would have in King's Landing. Oberyn gave her an appreciative kiss on the lips, but playfully lengthening it until the point where Tyrion seemed a little uncomfortable and Bronn looked as if he was having fun. Tyrion knew what Oberyn was doing. He was displaying that he and not any other man (or woman) belong to Sansa and she to him. When they had parted, Sansa was blushing violently, which made Tyrion a little grateful that her marriage did not change her too much at all. 

 "And I am grateful that I got to you before  _anyone else_  did," Oberyn added, giving a little wink towards Bronn, one that he duly understood. "But marriage, Lord Tyrion, it changes men, even men like me. You should try it one day." 

 "Oh, I've been married," Tyrion said. "Once. It didn't end well for me though, so do forgive me if I am a bit hesitant on it." 

 Sansa shot Oberyn a quizzical look, but he tilted his head slightly and she gave up. They would not probe his history, until he was willing to reveal it to them. "How is Margery, Lord Tyrion?"

 "She's enjoying being the Queen every bit, Princess," Tyrion said. "She sends her regards and wishes that you and Prince Oberyn are well." There was a strange friendship between Sansa and Margery that he could not ever fathom. When Margery had just come to King's Landing after Renly Baratheon's death and Joffrey had dissolved his betrothal to her for one to Margery, Sansa and Margery became fast friends when other women would have considered one another enemies. It had been a strange move for the Tyrells, but it pulled off. 

 "Please tell her that I am very happy here," Sansa said. "I wish her and King Tommen all the blessings in the world." 

 Tyrion broke into a small smile. "You are too kind, Princess." he told her. "I will pass the message on." 

 "Well, it is time that Sansa and I returned to the palace," Oberyn said. "My brother has a few... errands for us to run," Oberyn proclaimed. "We will see you later at dinner, Lord Tyrion." He took Sansa's hand and left almost hurriedly. 

 "So, what are ya gonna tell your father?" Bronn asked Tyrion. "She's here in Dorne, feet firmly planted in the sand." 

 "I'm going to tell him exactly that," Tyrion said. 

 "But what if she leaves after you send your report in?"

 "Then I'll have to send in another report," Tyrion said. 

 "Something's not right here," Bronn said. "Everything's too... quiet." 

 "This is Dorne, Bronn," Tyrion said. "Its population is the least in all of Westeros, it's supposed to be quiet. There's nothing here except the desert." 

 "How long are we gonna be here?"

 Tyrion sighed. "I wish I knew," he replied. "I really wish I knew." 

* * *

 "Say what you will, my love, but Tyrion Lannister certainly at more than a few eyes for you," Oberyn told Sansa as he had her pressed onto the wall in the hallway near their chambers. 

 

 "You're not serious, are you?" Sansa asked him. "Lord Tyrion would  _never_..." 

 Oberyn interrupted her with another kiss. "Perhaps you are right," he said. "But I am a very perceptive man, and I  _know_  who my rivals are. I know that his presence here might remind you again as your days as a virtual hostage in King's Landing, you must be strong." 

 Sansa looked into Oberyn's eyes with disbelief. She had not said anything to anyone about such thoughts. How in the world would he know them if she had never put them to words. "How did you..." 

 "I am your husband, Sansa," Oberyn reminded her, bringing his forehead to hers. "You have suffered much under the hand of the Lannisters, and even though Tyrion was kind to you, the others were not. It is only natural that you would associate everything bearing that name with your past experiences." He knew that he was right by the way she had melted into his arms. He only held her tighter. "I also wish to talk to you about something else." 

 "What is it?" Sansa asked. 

 "Your visions," he told her. "They are taking a toll on your body, a toll that should not be there." Gently, he held her by her forearm with one hand and lifted her chin with the fingers on the other, so he would be looking directly into her blue eyes. "You must have felt it, no?"

 She had thought that he would not notice. At first, when she started Greenseeing, she thought that she would finally be of help to others. She had  _wanted_  to be given more and more of those visions. However, since they had come to Dorne, she noticed that she took a longer time to recover from her visions. She had spoken to Maester Caleotte in private and had sworn him to secrecy, but he could find no answer. She did not  _understand_  it. 

 "I... I... don't know..." Sansa said. "Oberyn, it's not like I can control seeing them. They just come to me..." 

 "Yet, your strength wanes," Oberyn told her. "I fear for you, my love." He did not mean to frighten her, but he knew that in his heart, it would be wise to tell her. "We had gone through so much together in these few short months, I fear that I cannot bear to be parted from you in any given time in my life." 

 Sansa knew that the last words that he had spoken were true. They were true because they had been in her mind as well. Her husband had given her so much since they had met. Her newfound strength and confidence, they would have been nothing if not for the sense of safety and security that he had given her from the first time they met. Without him, she would not have accomplished everything that she had already done, however small they were. 

 "We have to accept this," Sansa told him. "There's no other way. I can't stop having those visions..." She knew that Oberyn was aware of how important her visions were. Her bond to her family would in one way aid Robb in his campaigns and the fact that she and Daenerys Targaryen share mutual presences in one another's mind were good enough to establish some form of physical link between them. "And you know that we need them." 

 Oberyn sighed and gathered Sansa in his arms, gently leaning her head into the arch of his neck. "But at the cost of your life?" he asked her. "Sansa, I will give  _everything_ ,  _anything_ , for you to..." 

 Using his old tricks, Sansa lifted her head and kissed him. "We don't have that choice now, Oberyn," she told him. "If... there are things that we both must do, then we must do them, no matter what it takes." She loved him, and she knew it because of the way he loved her. Gentle, calming, always pushing her forwards, he had only encouraged her, giving her courage to face not only her fears but her future as well. "Didn't the Valyrians say 'Valar morghulis'? We have to take things a day at a time now, to find life... in every breath." 

 "Life in every breath..." Oberyn repeated her words. Surely, they would only be a symbol of how wise she was beyond her years. "Perhaps you are right, my love." Those words also made him realize that Ellaria's former warnings held much truth, that there was a great possibility that the two of them were only brought into her life to guide her through her journeys. He would hold her as he did now, and love her as he would now for as long as she was his to love and to hold. Until it is time for him to release her, he would never let go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did you like this chapter? I'm sorry for being away for this long though. I got stuck halfway through and it took me awhile to see what I could do. If anything, I feel as I'm approaching another standstill and it is painful, not knowing where to go. 
> 
> Did you like what I did with Tyrion in Dorne? It was great fun writing about the interactions between him and Bronn too. 
> 
> Today's pop culture reference goes to the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and the Last Samurai. They won't be hard to find. ^_^
> 
> Enjoy!


	43. The Rescue

 It was a clear Northern morning when Talisa walked out of the keep just to be in the main courtyard. There was always a flurry of activity. Men-at-arms training, the women chattering about with their chores, be they slaughtering chickens for the cooks for sweeping snow and dust away from the roads, or Mikken, the blacksmith, hammering away at horseshoes or even blades. It was like a tiny version of Volantis, or what Volantis should be, without slavery. Her husband's family, they knew everyone and everything. They were rulers of the North, rulers of Winterfell, but Arya was respectful to all the elders and got along well with the other children, while Catelyn ran about her usual duties as the lady of Winterfell. A lord once joked that Catelyn should have been titled the Queen Mother, but since she was unused with such a title, Catelyn dispensed with it. She told the lord that she was always meant to be Lady Catelyn Stark, and so she would remain until the day she died. 

 "When I first came up here, I was so scared," Catelyn told Talisa when she joined her daughter-in-law. "The people were strange, the weather was cold... even the Gods were different. Ned tried to accommodate me, he built a Sept for me in the keep, even. You're doing so much better than I did." 

 Talisa smiled. "In Essos, people worship thousands of different gods," she explained. "The Red Priests worship the Lord of Light, which some call the Red God, Braavosi Faceless Men worship the Faceless God, which they say is the God of Death of all religions... Those in Slaver's Bay worship the ancient harpies of the Ghiscari Empire... I am used to the notion of different gods, Mother. Seven Gods or an infinite number of Old Gods, they protect us, they bless us. It is enough for me." 

 "We are blessed then, to have Queen who is so worldly and yet so humble," Catelyn told her. "The people will love you in time once you get to know them. The lords are already calling you 'Queen Talisa' instead of just 'Your Grace' now. It's a good sign." 

 Yes, Talisa noticed that change too. She was happy that they did so. It meant that they were slowly starting to trust her. When she first knew that she was pregnant she begged that they would love her child, more than they loved her. She did not need their love, she needed them to love Robb and their child. She was thankful that they had begun to include her as well. "I am lucky that they finally approve," she smiled, caressing her bloated womb. "Then I'll have no worry for this little one when he or she enters the world." 

 "Robb prefers a daughter," Catelyn said. "He says that it gives you the chance to try for a boy later." 

 "I would prefer a boy," Talisa said. "So that we might try for girls later. I envy Prince Oberyn. He has eight daughters..." 

 "Sansa writes that the other six are lovely," Catelyn said. "That they were all willing to have her as their stepmother thanks to her... arrangement with Ellaria. They are also teaching her to use a dagger so that she might protect herself... A lifetime ago, this life would not be one I planned for Sansa, but now she is happy." 

 "My parents thought that they would marry me to the grandson of one of the other Triarchs," Talisa said. "But, here I am in Winterfell. Destiny is a strange thing, is it not?"

 "Yes, it is," Catelyn said, but her eyes did not fall upon Talisa, but upon the riders that came through the gate. 

 Talisa saw that Catelyn's eyes were widened. She knew not why, but she began to call the men-at-arms to attention. Seconds later, she saw that the riders were bearing sigils that she had not seen before. It was a white falcon next to a crescent moon upon a blue field. Catelyn instantly recognized it but she did not. 

 "It's House Arryn," Arya explained when she came out of the Keep with her newly-returned direwolf, Nymeria by her side. "Mother's sister, Aunt Lysa, married Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King before Father was. Father and King Robert were fostered by him before the last war." 

 "Where does House Arryn serve in this one?" Talisa asked Arya. 

 Sadly, Arya shrugged. "I don't know," she answered. "The Hound was going to ransom me to Aunt Lysa, but he turned to Casterly Rock instead after Robb took it." 

 "Who is the rider at the front?" Talisa asked him. "He is the only one who bears the sigil of a mockingbird." 

 "That's Littlefinger!" Arya exclaimed. "What's he doing here?"

 Talisa shook her head. There was something... inherently unwholesome about this man. His smile was kind, but it was purposeful. 

 "Lord Baelish, welcome to Winterfell," Catelyn said cautiously. The last time she had seen him was in his brothel in King's Landing, where he had told her and her late husband that the dagger that was used during Bran's assassination attempt belonged to Tyrion Lannister. It was a claim that she had pushed and one that the Imp had denied when her sister Lysa had him tried in the Eyrie. Now, she actually wondered if Tyrion Lannister really was the one who tried to have Bran killed. Whatever he told her could have been a lie, and if she had not abducted Tyrion Lannister to the Vale, his brother Jaime would not have ridden against the Riverlands... So much had ridden on what he had told her and how she and Ned had acted afterwards. "We didn't expect you." 

 "He looks as if he's going to swallow Mother whole," Talisa whispered to Arya. "Who is he?"

 "Lord Petyr Baelish was fostered at Riverrun," Arya whispered back. "He grew up with Mother and Aunt Lysa. I don't know anything else other than he was the Master of Coin when Father was the Hand." 

 Littlefinger got down from his horse and kissed Catelyn's hand. "Nor did I expect to come, Cat," he said. He then turned towards Arya and Talisa. "Princess, Your Grace, I give you my greetings, or as you might say in Essos,  _Valar Morghulis_."  

 " _Valar Dohaeris,_  Lord Baelish," Talisa greeted cordially while Arya barely gave him a nod. "Please come in. It is far too cold to be standing in the courtyard." 

 "Thank you, Your Grace," Littlefinger said, removing his gloves as they entered the keep. "My ancestors were from Essos, you know. My great-grandfather sailed from Braavos to the Fingers, and we try to remember our roots as much as we can." 

 Talisa smiled at his words. It was a reaction a man like him expected to see and she would give it to him. "Such a notion warms the heart, my lord," she said. When they entered the Great Hall, Talisa sat on her chair while Catelyn sat on hers. Robb's makeshift throne was left empty and Arya stood next to Catelyn. It was no secret that Winterfell was held by the bulk of Robb's Northern Army, but was led by the three Stark women, or rather, two and a half Stark women, because Robb was at the Wall, trying to fend Wildlings. Arya Stark was still a child, not yet ripe for any more plots or any piece of action. However, Littlefinger did find one anomaly in Winterfell. Sandar Clegane, the Hound was there, lurking in the shadows.

 Food was brought to Littlefinger, along with warming beers and cheese. He ate sparingly while the women watched. They were silent, but all of them were watching him. "Tell me why you are here, Petyr," Catelyn coaxed him, speaking as though she carried heavy stones in her chest. 

 Littlefinger heaved a deep sigh, casting his eyes away from Catelyn's. "I am terribly sorry, Cat, your sister Lysa... she is dead."

 Instant shock took Catelyn, and Arya immediately hung onto her. "It can't be!" Catelyn replied. "She... she was just fine when I was in the Eyrie! How could she leave her son so suddenly?"

 "I am afraid that Lysa became... unstable even before I set out to the Vale to marry her," Littlefinger said. "Poor Lysa almost pushed Sweet Robin through the Moon Door, the lords of the Vale had no choice but to pry Sweet Robin out of her hands. When she realized what she had done, she was so overcome with regret that she threw herself down." There were tears dropping from his chin, and seeing them, Catelyn buried her hands in her head. In a short amount of time, she had lost her husband, her father and now her sister, while the safety of her youngest sons could not be confirmed... 

 Talisa gently squeezed Catelyn's arm. If Littlefinger was married to Lysa before her death, would it not mean that the Vale was his to rule now? If Lysa Arryn's son was still too young to rule then... his word would have been law. 

 "You have come all the way from the Vale to tell me this?" Catelyn asked Littlefinger. "A raven could have sufficed." 

 "I knew that I should be the one who delivered such news to you," he added. "Cat, we grew up together, the three of us. The pain I felt when my beloved wife committed suicide was real." 

 "Where is her son, Robin now?" Catelyn asked him. 

 "He is safe with Lord Royce," Littlefinger answered. "The Lords of the Vale are loyal to their lord." 

 "For how long?" Catelyn asked. "Robin is weak and still a child. If they turn on him, who would defend him?"

 "I am the Lord Protector of the Vale, Cat, they  _will_  not turn on him." 

 So, the tiger had finally revealed its stripes, Talisa mused. "Will the Vale offer aid to the North?" Talisa asked him directly. "If so, what will be the price?"

 Littlefinger smiled widely, whatever sadness he had for his late wife utterly erased. "That would depend, Your Grace, on what kind of arrangement we get into." 

* * *

 "You  _have_  to make sure that you'll come back alive," the Blackfish told Robb just before he was going to ride to the lands beyond the Wall with Jon and the Night's Watch. "Your mother and wife will have my head if you don't." 

 "Don't worry, Ser Brynden," Obara said, "Nym and I will take care of His Grace." 

 The Blackfish nodded towards the Sand Snakes. "I'm counting on you two, sweet girls," he told them, acknowledging Obara's pledge. They did not like being called ladies, being Oberyn Martell's bastard daughters, so he had called them "girls" although they were at an age long past girlhood. 

 "I'll be fine," Robb protested. "Besides, who is going to look for my brothers if Jon is busy killing off his mutineers?" 

 The Blackfish rolled his eyes. "I can't argue with you, and you know it," he said. 

 "I wish I could come with you," Theon said. "But... I won't be able to face them." 

 Robb nodded and clapped Theon's shoulder. "You will guard Queensgate with Uncle Brynden, Theon," he instructed. "If anything happens... ride like hell to Winterfell." 

 Theon was silent, understanding ever single implication of his orders. 

 Just then, Jon came up to them. "It's time," he said, giving Theon a great nod to acknowledge his presence there. "Come on." 

 "We'll go wherever you go, Prince Jon," Nymeria quipped, clearly enjoy teasing him before his family. 

 Robb had chuckled, while the Blackfish merely shook his head. "Go with the Gods." 

 Together, the raiding party rode into the only cavern in Castle Black, which opened for them on both sides, with Grey Wind beside Robb. He would hardly be the first Stark to venture beyond the Wall, nor the first Northern King, but for whatever reason, his heartbeat increased in speed, for the sheer reason that he was going into the wilds for the first time of his life. Even Obara and Nymeria, who were well-traveled thanks to the freedoms they were given by their father, were utterly awed by the vast expanse of snow before them. The winds bit straight into the bones, and they rode. 

 "It's beautiful," Robb said to Jon. "It's all white and cold but..." 

 "There are lands beyond these mountains, lands that are still green," Jon told him. "All of them under the control of Mance Rayder, and they are fleeing them." 

 "Why?" Robb asked. "Only war and death waits for them if they come for the Wall." 

 "There are fates worse than death if they stay," came Jon's reply. "Mance Rayder and his wildlings are fleeing the White Walkers. Sam has seen a whole horde of them walking in the snow, some atop dead horses. Before Lord Commander Mormont brought us out the first time, I killed a wight that was one of us. They're real, Robb. As real as you and I." 

 "You mean, the man that Father executed back then, he was speaking the truth?" Robb asked in return. 

 "You'll have to see them to believe it," Jon said. "And pray hard that we don't bump into some today." 

 Robb nodded and looked towards the Sand Snakes, who huddled deeper into their voluminous fur robes that Catelyn had given to them before they set out to the Wall. They only managed to give him quick nods, being too cold to do anything else. It was understandable that they would feel so cold. They were grew up in the Dornish deserts, and would most probably freeze in the North while Northmen would scorch in Dorne. 

 However, the blizzard only lasted for awhile. In an hour's time, the skies were already clear and they were reaching Craster's Keep, which would be in the clearing beyond the woods. They got off their horses while Jon sent one of their own to scout around the area. 

 "So, who is Craster?" Robb asked Edd. "What does he do around these parts?"

 "You should be askin' who  _was_  Craster, Your Grace," Edd said. "He was a Wildling that held this keep with his girls until Karl turned on the Lord Commander and killed him too. He fucks the girls and when they give birth to sons, he has them put the boys in the woods as tribute to their gods." 

 "Charming," Obara commented. 

 "It is, isn't it?" 

 "So, the boys would just disappear?" Robb added, more interested in the fates of the boys. "How long has Craster been doing that?"

 Edd shrugged. "No one knows, Your Grace," he replied. "Maybe the wolves' got them, or some other beast. No one really knows." 

 "And Gilly and her son, they escaped such a fate," Robb continued. 

 "That's because Sam was being a right idiot to bring them with 'em..." 

 Before Edd could add anything to his statement, a Brother came back with a bit of a wheeze. "I counted 11 men," he reported. "Most of them already drunk, without a care in the world." 

 "Karl was a top paid cutthroat in Flea Bottom," Jon proclaimed, mentally measuring their stakes. Robb had always been the better fighter between them, so he was not too worried about Robb, or the Sand Snakes for the matter. Even so, he knew that they could not underestimate thier adversaries. "I've seen what he can do with a knife..." 

 "New moon tonight," Grenn said, looking towards the skies. They had just barely passed noon, Robb cast a look towards Jon that only a brother could decipher. 

 "Get some rest, all of you," Jon said. "We move at sundown." 

 For the remainder of the day, Robb looked into the keep, trying to get a good feel of it there. The men there were despicable. The women were abused left, right and center, their cries only incensing the Sand Snakes further. 

 "How can the Night's Watch allow such cruelty to continue?" Obara asked the Black Brothers. "Even if they weren't mutineers, these women were abused thus by their father, no?"

 "Wildlings keep to their own ways," Jon reasoned. "Like you Dornishmen, Obara." Obara took those words as her cue to start being quiet. "Are the Sand Snakes always so..." 

 "The Dornish have great freedoms," Robb explained. "But they value consensual... relations the most, between man and woman, or even those of the same sex." 

 "Charming," Jon repeated in the same manner as Obara had spoken. 

 "They grow on you, these two," Robb said. "Just give'em time." 

 Jon rolled his eyeballs. It was going to be a long time till sundown, and the Sand Snakes were already restless. 

* * *

 Bran knew that the keep was being attacked the moment the sound of steel clashing could be heard even from the outside. Karl and his lackeys were just about to hoist Meera onto a hook from her thick furs, threatening to rape her when Karl decided that Meera was no longer a fitting prize, but he was. 

 With his bare hands, Karl dragged Bran into the fray. "Snow! I know you are here!" he shouted. "If you don't show yourself, the boy dies!" 

 "Jon... stay away!" Bran shouted, seeing men dressed in black fighting against other men dressed in black. If Karl had reacted the way he had, his guess that Jon was there could be true. "Don't come near! I'm fine!" 

 "Put Bran down, now!" 

 The voice was not Jon's but Robb's. 

 "Robb!" Bran exclaimed, both in surprise and in relief. "What are you doing here?" 

 "Saving you," Robb replied. "Put my brother down and you will be richly rewarded." 

 Karl spat into the snow. "You highborn folk never keep your promises," he said. "What's to stop you form going against your word if I do?"

 "Bran, get down!" Robb shouted, and Bran started to struggle against Karl, so much so that he fell face down into the snow. 

 "Come back here, you..." 

 A roar came from behind Robb, and when Robb ducked, all he saw was a great grey wolf pouncing towards him. Bran recognized the wolf as Grey Wind, already at Karl's windpipe, crushing it between his powerful jaws. Karl was dead within seconds. 

 "Thank you, Grey Wind," Bran thanked when Grey Wind whimpered towards him. His brother's direwolf was bigger than he remembered, though. 

 "Bran, are you alright?" Robb asked him despite the chaos around them. "Are you hurt?"

 "I'm fine," Bran said as Robb set him on Grey Wind's back. 

 "Mother will be so pleased when she finally sees you," Robb said. Just then, he realized that something was amiss. "Wait, where's Rickon?"

 "I sent Osha to bring Rickon to the Last Hearth," Bran said. "I've not seen them since." 

 "That's a good call," Robb said, ruffling his little brother's hair. "Mother's going to have a field day when she gets to you." 

 "I'm not going back, Robb," Bran said. 

 "What?"

 "I can't," Bran continued. "You have to understand... I have to visit the Three Eyed Raven beneath the great weirwood tree. It's the only way I can learn how to warg properly... Sansa's a greenseer, isn't she? I'll teach her how to use her powers when I'm done... Maybe she'll be stronger..." 

 "What do you know of Sansa?" Robb asked Bran. 

 "I saw her... in a fighting pit. People were dying everywhere and they were trapped and a dragon, a red one, saved them..." Bran answered. "I couldn't understand what I saw, but I understand that she's getting weaker..." 

 "Mother will  _kill_  me if she finds out," Robb told Bran. "Is Hodor with you?"

 Bran nodded. "We're with Jojen and Meera Reed," he added. "Jojen's a greenseer too." 

 "Alright, you do what you need to do," Robb told him. "Tell me where to go so I can see that all of you are safe." 

* * *

 "Did you see the boys?" Nymeria asked Obara, who shook her head and flung her spear towards the last mutineer in sight. 

 "I've not seen them anywhere," Obara replied. "Only crying women and dead crows." 

 "They've got to be here!" Jon exclaimed. "They've nowhere else to go! We need to look harder!" When it seemed like the battle had died down, Jon seemed to have heard a familiar sound. "Where in Seven Hells?" he shouted, his expression brightening when he saw what was approaching him. It was Ghost. "I missed you, boy." 

 The moment he touched Ghost's head, he felt as if his eyes suddenly bolted upon even if they already were. He could see Robb standing next to Hodor, who was carrying Bran, and two other children with Grey Wind and Summer. He could see Arya in Winterfell holding court with Lady Catelyn, Robb's wife and Nymeria with a strange guest and Sansa with Lady in Dorne, in the arms of her husband. Last but not least, little Rickon with Shaggydog in an unknown keep while a wildling woman cooked and cleaned...

 All of them had paused what they were doing, the six Stark scions, in various parts of the world. In that moment in time, they realized one thing: that they were now reunited, and that Sansa and Bran were not the only ones with the gifts of the Old Gods. 

 "Jon, Jon!" Nymeria called towards him. "What happened?"

 Jon shook his head vigorously, as though it would bring him back to the real world faster. When he raised his head, he saw Robb coming back towards them with Grey Wind. "I think Robb felt it too," he said, gesturing his head towards Robb, who was walking back towards them. 

 "I did," Robb replied. "I let Bran go," he explained. "He has a different path. I let him do what he needed to do." 

 "Robb... do you know what that means?" Jon asked him. "We're... all..." 

 "Aye, I do," Robb concluded. "We're Wargs and Greenseers. And we'll have to be damned good ones if we want to survive." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OHOHOHOHOHO~ How did you like that? I know thatin book canon, Bran is the only warg/Greenseer, but since Sansa has the same ability, I decided to make it uniform amongst the Stark kids. I changed the ending of the raid on the mutineers just to facilitate this little... development.
> 
> Littlefinger in Winterfell, Lysa already dead... HMMMM, why though?
> 
> Enjoy!


	44. The Children

_"Did... did you feel that?"_

_"Yes... it's weird!"_

_"Rickon, where are you? I'm coming to get you!"_

_"Robb? Where are you? I can hear you but I can't see you!"_

_"Bran, why didn't you want to come back with Robb?"_

_"I have to get to the Three-eyed Raven!"_

_"Wait... where are Bran and Rickon?"_

_"EVERYONE, QUIET!"_

_" Sorry Robb. All this while, I thought that I was the only one who could..."_

_"Well, Sansa, I started to see things since I woke after my fall..."_

_"This is crazy, I mean, how is it possible that we're_  all _wargs at the same time?"_

_"Arya, this is not the time to speculate. We need a plan."_

_"What are you suggesting, Jon?"_

_"We can't go on like this. We'll go insane because we'll hear and see everything."_

_"We don't even know what caused this thing to happen, you know."_

_"Shut up, Arya! Jon's trying to think."_

_"Oh, you shut up! Just because you can't walk doesn't mean I can't..."_

_"Heeheehee, I miss Bran and Arya arguing..."_

_"Knock it off, you two..."_

_"You're not the boss of me, Robb."_

_"I am King and I am the boss of you, Arya."_

_"Is anyone touching their direwolves?"_

_"Sansa, you're right!"_

_"So, if we want to talk to each other, we just have to touch our direwolves at the same time."_

_"I don't think it will work that way, Rickon..."_

_"No, we can't do this all the time. Sansa can't take it."_

_"What... what did Oberyn tell you?"_

_"He told me enough."_

_"Wait... Oberyn? Oberyn Martell?"_

_"Yes, Bran, Sansa's  married to the Red Viper."_

_"Wow... congratulations, I guess."_

_"Sansa's married? Why couldn't I come to the wedding?"_

_"So is Robb, Rickon."_

_"On the count of three, everyone gets their hands off their direwolves. No exceptions."_

_"Wait!"_

_"What now, Rickon?"_

_"I... I missed you all."_

* * *

 "We're  _all_  wargs," Sansa told Oberyn when she recovered from yet another trance which happened at the very moment she had touched Lady's head. Yet, this time, she was not shaking as hard, or was she visibly taxed. A tear fell from her eye, a tear of joy, he deemed. "I... I felt all of them, Oberyn. Robb, Arya, Bran, Jon and Rickon... We spoke to each other in our minds..." 

 Oberyn could do nothing but smile at her proclamation. "I am happy for you then," he told her, bringing her into his arms. "You see, you were never alone." 

 Sansa nodded, feeling the warmth of his embrace. "No, I wasn't," she repeated and Lady yelped happily. It had been a great revelation to her, and she was relieved. She knew that she was supposed to be angry at him for going behind her back to tell Robb of her... condition, but she could not find the strength or ability to resist him. To see him as overjoyed as she was in her knowledge that her siblings had the same abilities as she did, her heart was warmed and she realized that she could not love him more than she did already. She was truly blessed. 

 "Oh, my sweet Sansa," Oberyn murmured. It brought him a great amount of joy to see her so happy. He was no godly man, but he knew that only the Gods were capable of the abilities that Sansa and her siblings had. Yes, they were cruel, that for her, those blessings was a curse as well, but she was happy. To him, it would be all that mattered. 

 "I'm being incredibly stupid, aren't I?" Sansa asked, wiping her tears off. "It's a happy thing, and I'm here crying my eyes out..." 

 "You were always a contradictory woman," Oberyn teased as a result. "Now come, I think that we've been hiding in here for too long. Our presence will be missed." 

 It was one of the rare few days when Sansa decided that she would laze around and not do any work. Maester Caleotte had long since relieved her of her studies with him due to the speed of her progression in her studies and Oberyn was always willing to indulge her. They were laying on a chaise in a quiet part of the castle with Lady at their feet, hiding from the world. Ellaria would always be the one sent to locate them, and she has not found them yet. 

 "Just five more minutes," Sansa pouted, using his arm as a bolster. "We're not doing anything important today, are we?"

 "No, but we are still playing host to Tyrion Lannister," Oberyn reminded her. "We also have to ensure that he gives his father a favorable report so that the crown would not suspect anything." 

 "Alright," Sansa said, getting up from the chaise. "Let's get this day over with." 

* * *

 "How are you feeling?" Robb asked Jon while they rode back to Castle Black after having burnt down Craster's Keep with the dead. Craster's daughter-wives refused to go with them, even after Robb had promised them safe passage through the North. 

 "Why?" Jon asked him with a raised eyebrow. 

 "Well, Sansa would have a little... complication after she used her gifts, and I was wondering if you were fine." 

 "I am," Jon said. "I guess..." 

 Robb clapped him on the shoulder. "Good," he said. 

 "Robb... there's something I want to talk to you about," Jon said. 

 "What is it?" 

 "I... never got to thank you... for you know... making me a Stark." 

 "You're an idiot, Jon," Robb said. "You were always a Stark, even if you weren't Mother's son. Father didn't raise you to be any different than us, so I didn't see it as any big step. Besides, if you aren't a Stark, how could you be a warg like the rest of us?" Looking back, the day they brought the direwolves back with them was the day that cemented their fates as siblings. He would not have it any other way. It would also explain why it had been so easy for them to train the direwolves. 

 "So what do we do now?" Jon asked. "Does what we are change anything?"

 Robb shook his head. "I don't know," he replied solemnly. "We only have these gifts. We don't know how to use them apart from Bran and Sansa. We'll have to learn how to use our powers quickly or we'll be given them for nothing. We can't wait for Bran to come back from the Three-eyed Raven." 

 "Agreed," Jon said. "But... how?"

 "Oh, I don't know, Jon," he said. "Maybe we should sit in a circle and meditate?" 

 "Is that going to work?"

 "I  _said_  I don't know, didn't I?"

 They were interrupted by the Sand Snakes' chuckling. "The two of you bicker like our younger sisters," Obara observed. 

 "What's it to you, Obara?" Robb asked. "Don't all brothers and sisters do that?"

 "They do," Nymeria said. "It's just funny because the fates of the world rests on your particular set of brothers and sisters and you still act like... everyone else. I don't know if I should find it comforting or disconcerting." 

 Robb and Jon looked at one another then towards the Sand Snakes. Robb rolled his eyes. "Your father set you up on this, didn't you?" he said, finally feeling the pressure of being King in the North again. 

 "Maybe," Obara said. "Maybe not... You'll never know, Your Grace." 

 "Oh, Gods..." 

* * *

 Talisa swore that she had never met a more... problematic man before she met Petyr Baelish, a man Arya referred to as Littlefinger. The fact that he was Catelyn's childhood friend and playmate was one thing, the fact that he held great political power - far more than any other man in Westeros, was another. Being from Volantis, she knew that bloodlines meant nothing in the grand scheme of politics, but this man had come from nothing and clawed his way to the pinnacles of power by his own efforts. It spoke volumes about his skills and his feats. 

 Now, he stood there,  _daring_  to propose marriage to Catelyn, just days after her sister's body was interred in the funeral grounds of the Vale. Catelyn had slapped him, leaving an angry, five-fingered mark on his cheek but he was unrepentant. 

 "Cat, listen to me," Littlefinger begged Catelyn. "You are widowed and I am a widower, we could use the company in our... advanced age." 

 "How dare you..." Catelyn bit back. "Did you have no love for Lysa?" she asked him. "How could you do this to her, you monster" 

 "She would have wanted us both to be happy," Littlefinger coaxed further. 

 Arya just looked at him with shock and disgust, while Talisa looked on with worry. "Lord Baelish, this matter cannot be decided by us alone," Talisa offered. "We must discuss this with my husband first. Please do understand..." 

 "Oh, take your time, Your Grace, by all means," Littlefinger replied. "Where is the Young Wolf, though, might I ask? The King in the North leaves his wife, mother and sister to rule in his stead while he is off..." 

 "The King is at the Wall, Lord Baelish," Talisa answered graciously. "He is honoring the great tradition of his family by assisting the Night's Watch in their time of need when no other Westerosi lord would answer such a call." 

 Littlefinger nodded. "Ah, the Wildling armies," he said. "How is the campaign running then? Mance Rayder is rumored to be marching against the Wall with a hundred thousand Wildlings... How does King Robb think he can defeat such a foe?"

 Talisa knew the game he was playing. He was trying to goad her into revealing their position. "Those are matters that I know little of, my lord," she said. "I am only a simple woman from a simple home in Volantis." 

 "Oh, and how would a simple girl amass a Volantene fleet with the colors of House Maegyr, I wonder?"

 Talisa only glared at him. However, she knew that if she left, she would be allowing him to intimidate her. "Lord Baelish, I am a Healer by trade," she reminded him after she softened her own expression. "I have no skill in politics at all. The ships were sent by my grandfather as a wedding present." 

 "And how would word of your need of ships reach Volantis?" Littlefinger added. "You came to Westeros unannounced, Your Grace. The Lannisters did not know of your status as a scion of House Maegyr until it was too late..." 

 "I write to my mother often," Talisa said. "We commandeered Lannister ships to send word there when my husband occupied the Westerlands to do the deed." 

 Finally receiving his answer, Littlefinger seemed placated. Sansa must never be exposed as their ambassador. At that moment in time, she was thankful that Robb had taken Obara and Nymeria with him. Their presence would have spoken volumes about Dorne's involvement with the North, and she feared deeply what he would do with such information. 

 "Talisa, our guests must be wary from their travels," Catelyn said loudly. "I would think that we should bring them to their accommodations, shall we not?"

 Talisa smiled towards Catelyn and nodded her head. "Yes, Mother," she said. "Please follow me, Lord Baelish." 

 Once Talisa and Littlefinger were gone, Catelyn turned towards Arya. "Send a raven to Robb. Tell him that Lord Baelish is here and he is to come home immediately."

 Arya nodded. "Come on, Nymeria," she called to her direwolf. "Let's go!" 

 They went up to the raven's tower and met with Maester Marlan, who was sent to Winterfell after word had reached the Citadel of Maester Luwin's death. He was a younger, sprightlier fellow who carried out orders without question. His greatest strength, however, was his discreet approach, and in those days, it was what the Starks needed the most. "Maester Marlan, I need to get a raven to Castle Black." 

 "Yes, dear Princess," he said. "Shall it be addressed to Prince Jon or King Robb?"

 "Robb," Arya said. "I'll write it." 

 The Maester quickly provided Arya some paper, ink and a quill. "Here you go, Princess." 

 "Thanks," Arya replied before hastily scribbling the message she needed to send. Within a matter of minutes, a raven was sent for Castle Black and now, all they had to do was wait. 

 She returned to her room the moment she had the opportunity to. With Nymeria close to her, she tried to concentrate. She was worried that the raven that she had sent might not get to Robb in time, and attempted to warg into Nymeria. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and focused on entering Nymeria's mind. She tried not to move an inch, but in the end, Nymeria barked at her, indicating that she was not successful at all. 

 Grimacing, she asked herself, "Why can't I do anything right?"

 Nymeria whimpered and copied her movements as she slumped on her bed. 

 "What makes Sansa and Bran so special that they can do what they do and I just end up doing nothing?"

 Still, there was no response from Nymeria. 

 "I'm trying to get into your head, you know, don't just stand there, help me!" 

  All she got from Nymeria was a yawn. 

 "Princess, are you in there?" came a loud bang on the door. From the gruff voice, Arya guessed that it was the Hound. He had gotten quite used to calling her "Princess" ever since he entered Robb's service, a habit that he had picked up just to annoy her. 

 "What do you want?" she asked the Hound. 

 "Littlefinger's up to no good," he said. "But I can't follow him around. He'll see me and I'm not familiar with the castle yet." 

 "So you want me to go spying on him?" Arya asked. 

 "Didn't you hear what he said, he wants to marry your mother," the Hound quipped back. "If you don't keep any eyes on him, he would do worse." 

 "But he's Littlefinger," Arya said. "What  _can_  he do?"

 The Hound was so frustrated with Arya that he slapped his own forehead. "You don't know anything don't ya?"

 "What should I know?"

 "Do as I say and you'll see," the Hound said. "You'd better do it while you're still small enough to follow him everywhere. He doesn't have an interest in you, so he wouldn't even notice you coming." 

 "Arya, do as he says." 

 Both the Hound and Arya turned around to find Talisa standing behind them. 

 "What?"

 "Something is not right," Talisa said. "Lord Baelish is not merely your mother's suitor. I don't have any proof now, but I fear that by the time we figure out what he's trying to do, we would be too late." 

 Reluctantly, Arya nodded. "Alright, I'll do it." 

 "You will start tonight," Talisa told Arya, gently clasping her shoulder. "Take Needle and Nymeria with you. You must not be seen." 

* * *

 Thankfully, Robb returned from Castle Black just before dinner was served, accompanied by the Blackfish, who refused to join them for dinner and went up to his quarters. He wanted nothing to do with Littlefinger, it seemed. 

 "Lord Baelish, forgive me for my tardiness, I had business up on the Wall," Robb proclaimed after greeting his family. "I trust that you were properly seen to?"

 "The hospitality of Winterfell is exemplary," Littlefinger replied. "I would have expected raised spears and sharpened blades but I was greeted with warm beer and even better company. It is rare that a King would put so much trust in the women of his family..." 

 Robb nodded towards Arya and Talisa. "My Queen has proven herself able when she ran Casterly Rock with my mother," he said. "And Arya... is being trained martially, like our aunt Lyanna. We have learned from the Mormonts that women are just as good at everything than men. Perhaps even better at other matters." 

 "Excellent, Your Grace," Littlefinger praised. "Such equality between the sexes is less-known, but it has proven quite effective for you, no? Even the Targaryens put all female heirs behind their male ones to prevent the Dance of Dragons from happening again. But you are not the first nation to actually put this in practice." 

 "Of course not," Robb said. "Dorne practices equal primogeniture. But we are not Dorne. I just have a grievous lack of brothers. They were all taken away from us and one volunteered to join the Night's Watch." 

 It cannot be said that Littlefinger was not pleased by Robb's response. "Pragmatism is a rare virtue in kings as well. Princess Sansa was married to Dorne. Did you manage to contact her at all?"

 "We could not get anything out of Dorne except a personal guarantee from Prince Doran that Sansa will be well-treated," Robb answered with a grimace. "Do you have any news?"

 "Only that Prince Oberyn managed to exact vengeance upon the Mountain for killing his sister, Princess Elia during the Sack of King's Landing," Littlefinger reported, making his news clear to the Hound. "For whatever reason, the Queen had Princess Sansa shot... but thankfully, it seemed that she made it to Dorne safely." 

 The Starks looked at one another in panic. Sansa has said nothing about being shot before, even in their little reunion. "Thank the Gods," Talisa said. "They say that her husband is a violent and lusty man. I hope that he has the heart to treat her well." 

 "There are... other tales, Your Grace, that Prince Oberyn has great love for his family and an even greater lust for beautiful men  _and_  women, as is the Dornish way," Littlefinger regaled. "I pray for the Princess' sake that he is of the latter sort." 

 "So what brings you to Winterfell, Lord Baelish?" Robb asked. "You're a long way from the Vale and Harrenhall, aren't you?"

 Littlefinger's smug smile widened. "I am here to offer my condolences that your dear aunt Lysa has passed away. My lady wife killed herself after a... manic episode where she tried to kill her own son and now I find am in need of another wife." 

 "You seek a wife in Winterfell," Robb said. "Arya is too young to marry, and my mother..." Catelyn cast a worried look towards Robb, a clear indication that his guess was right. "My mother has no wish to marry again. At least not yet. As you said, my Aunt Lysa has just passed onto the next world. Mother mourns not only Aunt Lysa but my grandfather and brothers as well. Such losses in such a short span of time cannot be healed, and she has to be seen to be publicly mourning. These losses not only reverberate through the North, but in the Riverlands as well. What  _would_  others say about you as well, Lord Baelish, when you do not mourn as well?" 

 "Of course, a period of mourning," Littlefinger replied. "And to show you my sincerity I shall let Cat decide the time she should mourn." 

 "Two years," Catelyn said plainly, without a hint of emotion to betray her true feelings. "Robb has just come into his own and war is still rife. If I am to marry you, Petyr, it would be in a time of peace." 

 "Two years it is then," Littlefinger replied. "Are you so confident that your son is able to end the war in two years?"

 "I have every confidence." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you have a fun time discerning who said what at the first section!
> 
> This chapter was HELL to write for me, which explains why it keeps flitting from Winterfell to Dorne and back to Winterfell. 
> 
> If you MUST know, my original ship is the creepyship. Yes, it's Baelish/Sansa. I LOVE Littlefinger, almost as much as I adore Oberyn. So it's actually quite fun to actually lay my hands on him... eh... in this fic. 
> 
> Enjoy!


	45. Plotting and Scheming

 "Tell me the truth, Princess, are you happy here?" Tyrion asked Sansa after he had tea with Myrcella and PrinceTrystane. She was finally out of the company of Oberyn or Ellaria, who seemed to be her bodyguards even more than Brienne of Tarth. Even Lady was content to just lay at her side, wide awake, fully watching. A few rashers of bacon had been enough to stop Lady from growling at either him or Bronn when they came near her, and he was glad that it had done the trick.

"I am, Lord Tyrion," Sansa replied. "What makes you think that I'm not?"

  
"I..." Tyrion tried, "You're right, I don't."

  
"I know what you're thinking," Sansa said. "I was a caged little dove in King's Landing and I was desperately trying everything I could to survive there. Everything the Queen and Joffrey threw at me, they were nothing compared to what I would do to finally get out alive." Judging by Tyrion's expression, she had more or less spoken his suspicions. "Well, you are right. I did take this chance to get out of King's Landing. I  _did_  offer myself for consideration to marry Ser Loras, and I  _did_  entertain the thought of leaving for the Vale with Lord Baelish."

  
Tyrion noticed that her courtly face was coming back as she spoke. He was now asking himself whether the Sansa that he knew in King's Landing or the one right before him now, who smiled and laughed with the Martells was the real one. "So, when Prince Oberyn came you took the opportunity."

  
Sansa nodded. "I did," she said. "Was I afraid? Yes, I really was. Frankly, I wouldn't have been as afraid if I left with Lord Baelish." She had neverspoke such words to anyone before. Not Oberyn orEllaria, and not even to Lady. But there was something in Tyrion Lannister that made her inherently trust him. The fact that she would not have survived to this day without him was one that she never forgot. "You know what the funny thing was? The person that made me lose all my fear was Ellaria."

  
"Ellaria?" Tyrion asked. For a bornlady like Sansa, such an answer came as a large surprise. Strictly speaking, Ellaria was Sansa's direct rival. She was Oberyn's paramour, who had known him far longer than she ever did. Such a woman should have been a threat to her, even in Dorne.

  
"I don't know," Sansa shrugged. "After we first met in Lord Tywin'soffices, he introduced me to her and... we just got along very well." Oberyn was an honest man. A philanderer at best, but an honest one. Now, she knew that he would have made it very clear that he would not be giving Ellaria up unless she wanted to, and the latter held no signs of doing so at all. He would have allowed her to have a paramour of her own to counter his arrangement, but she did not need to. "If not for her, I would not be so happy here. Ellaria taught me everything there is to know about Dorne,Oberyn and their daughters."

  
Tyrion heaved a sigh of relief. "Well, I'm glad that you have found a suitable... way of living here," he said. "So... you three..."

  
When Margery asked the very same question of her, Sansa's cheeks had turned into a color that was very similar to her own hair. But now, she nodded her head confidently. "Yes," she confirmed. "But a lady does not kiss and tell."

  
"Oh, I wasn't going to probe," Tyrion reassured her, although he knew that Bronn would have kicked him in the shin for daring to omit such a good opportunity for some juicy gossip. He was a cutthroat, but an extremelynosy one. "You know, Cersei's not very pleased that you've gained so much good from this marriage."

  
"I know," Sansa replied. "I don't understand, really. She's the Queen and I'm a traitor's daughter, married far off to Dorne. I can't touch her in any way."

  
"Well, being quite beautiful and a Stark helps, I suppose," Tyrion said. "You are, after all, the key to the North. It took great courage to send thatdirewolf back up North. Father was seething in rage for weeks."

  
"Cersei tried to have Nymeria hunted down and Lady executed," Sansa said. "It's a good thing that my father didn't listen to her. Oberyn and Doran advised me against sending Nymeria back home, but... I knew that I just have to."

  
"Oh, please," Tyrion tutted when he detected that hint of apology in Sansa's voice. "It was quite enjoyable, seeing her so angry over so small a thing," he told her. "If anything I should thank you for such a sight." Sansa gave him a light chuckle in reply, it was a sound that he had never heard before. "It's good to see you so happy here. I'm sorry that there might never be a way for you to see Winterfell again, but at least your new family loves you."

  
Sansa nodded. "And I love them too, with all my heart," she replied. "It's strange, you know. In the North, nothing is closer to us than our family. But I've come to realize family is not merely what you are born with. My family now was given to me, either by the Gods or politics, and they  _chose_  to love me. Not only Oberyn and Ellaria, but Doran andTrystane, evenTyene, Obella, Loreza, Sarella, Doreah and Elia. That is why I choose to love them back, and I am happy here."

  
"That's beautiful," Tyrion praised. "You've taught me more things about family in fifteen minutes than what I've learned my whole life. I've to thank you now, Princess."

  
"You don't have to, Lord Tyrion," Sansa said with a kind smile. "I've done nothing but tell you my boring little story."

  
"I think, to celebrate this, we should start being friends," Tyrion said. "You will call me Tyrion and I'll call you Sansa and we'll drink to this once we get our hands on your husband's marvelous vintage."

  
"I'll drink to that."

  
"You drink now?"

  
"Well, only a little."

* * *

"You have done well, sister," Doran told Sansa when she reported back to him and Oberyn. "Tyrion Lannister is... might we say disillusioned from how his family has treated him. His father despises him, his sister wants him dead... who else but you, dear sister, to remind him that all is not lost?"

"And I didn't need to  _lift_  anything but a wine glass," Sansa replied, shooting a mischievous look towards Oberyn. Her husband had the audacity to even suggest that she should start seducing him, but she brushed him off. "Not everyone is like you, my love."

  
Oberyn cocked an eyebrow at her. "Are you sure?" he asked. "I am sure that he was famous for whoring and drinking..."

  
"But I am neither a whore nor one who drinks," Sansa shot back. "Besides, Tyrion doesn't see me in such a manner."

  
"How do you know?" Doran asked her. "You are a beautiful woman, Sansa. Any man would not dare to refuse a beautiful woman."

  
"He already has a lover," Sansa said, as if it was the plainest thing ever. "And he's fiercely loyal to her."

  
Even Doran widened his eyes at the very mention of the possibility of such a thing. "Oh, and who might that be?"

  
"Shae," Sansa answered. "She was my handmaiden before we married, Oberyn, don't you remember her?"

  
 Oh, Oberyn remembered Shae. From her accent, he deemed that she came from Lorath. She was a pretty one, fair-skinned with a head of dark hair and large eyes. She was also fiercely protective of Sansa. The two of them had a strange rapport where Sansa and Shae would speak meanly to one another, but they actually cared for each other.

  
 "But Shae betrayed him at his trial," Oberyn reminded Sansa. "She told the whole court that she was his whore."

  
"Maybe what she said was true," Sansa said. "Maybe she was his whore, but she could have also been forced to speak against him. They are all liars there in King's Landing... So, to make the story short, yes, I think that Tyrion was in love with Shae."

  
 Doran nodded. "That wouldn't be too out of logic," he agreed. "So, this is how you know that Tyrion Lannister was never interested in you?" 

  
"More or less," was Sansa's reply. 

  
"Alright, let's leave it at that," Doran added. "Keep this friendship going. Let it thrive, Sansa. For all we know, there must be strife within the Lannister family although they tend not to reveal it. We will find a way to break them."

  
"We would only be replicating their methods," Oberyn told Sansa when he noticed that she had not fully steeled herself for the task at hand, or that she had not fully gotten used to the brutality of politics. "They have broken many more families and lives with their malice."

  
"I know," Sansa said. "It's just... sad. But maybe we are doing Tyrion some sort of justice..."

  
Oberyn kissed her forehead and said, "You are too kind, Sansa. But maybe you are right. Perhaps your new little friend could help us in taking his family down..."

  
"... if they're not doing it to themselves already," Doran added. "By any means, be careful. I know that you want to have a hand in everything, but you need not do what you are not willing to.

  
"I'm perfectly willing to do anything I need to," Sansa returned. "You don't have to worry about me, Doran."

  
Doran nodded. "Then I wish the best of luck to you, dear sister. Remember, do not hesitate to come to us if you have any troubles. I mean it." Sansa was a willing associate, but he sensed that it would be harder to remind her that she was only human. She and the rest of the world would think that she was already a grown woman, but Doran remembered that she was only sixteen going on seventeen. In a perfect world, she would not have needed to even participate in the scheming and plotting around her. None of them would have needed to, actually.

* * *

"You're pathetic," Bronn told Tyrion. The two of them were drinking in a random tavern in Sunspear before their departure to the Water Gardens with the Martells. "She was right before you and you said that you were going to be  _friends_."

"I would have you know that friends are crucial," Tyrion said.  "I am more than blessed to have Sansa as a friend. She would bring many benefits to my mission."

  
"Have you sent your report to your father?" Bronn asked. Tyrion duly nodded and he asked further. "So, what did he say?"

  
"'Make sure she stays there.' My father is a very succint man, and I think that he wants me here, out of his sight."

  
"Aren't you the Master of Coin?"

  
"That wouldn't matter as long as the Crown is in debt by the millions," Tyrion replied. "It would be the same no matter what we do."

  
Bronn acknowledged the sheer... hopelessness of Tyrion's situation. "So, we're stuck here in Dorne, at the mercy of your father and the Martells."

  
Tyrion nodded. "Yes, more or less," he said. "But it won't be so bad, acting as politcal hostages. We get to eat, drink and sleep all day, while doing nothing." They toasted one another and took hearty gulps of the Dornish wine that they had ordered.

  
"You know, with how much of a... libertine Prince Oberyn is, wouldn't you think that the Princess would be given the same freedoms as well?" Bronn stated. "What do you have to lose?"

  
"I... can't," Tyrion said. "Oberyn might think that she's a grown woman, but I can't. Besides... Shae..."

  
"You made sure that Shae was sent straight across the Narrow Sea after your bloody family freed you," Bronn explained. "Do you think that she'll really want you back? She was always after your money."

  
"But I hardly gave her any!" Tyrion exclaimed. "She found work as Sansa's handmaid under the Cersei's payroll, didn't she? She didn't even take the money I gave her."

  
"That's because your father paid her more, most probably," Bronn continued. "Look, all I'm just saying is that you should take a stab at it. You've always been taking care of her in the capital, and she's not disgusted by you in any way."

  
Tyrion sighed. "So you want me to... divert her from her husband and paramour because..."

  
"Because you wanted your cock in her ever since you knew that she'd be a good ride."

  
It was not the crudeness of Bronn's words that caused Tyrion to balk. It was the sheer honesty of it. Sansa was not only beautiful, but she had the brains to match with that beauty. Her intelligence came not in the form of Shae's cynic wit, but from her survival instincts and adaptability. She knew what to say to survive, and the pain that she had suffered was only a way of buying time. She had the patience that Cersei could never have, and quickly shed her desires to be a princess from the stories that she had read of. What an irony it was that at the very end, Sansa  _was_  the princess in the tales that she had read of.

  
"You're going to get me killed," Tyrion said. "And you're forgetting something else. Sansa still has the North behind her. She might have been cut off from her family, but  _if_  they hear anything has happened to her, they will have anyone who harms her thrown to the other side of the Wall for the wildlings and White Walkers."

  
Bronn slapped himself. " _That_ _'s_  holding ya back?" he demanded. "I'm beginning to wonder if you're really Tyrion Lannister."

  
"Politics and diplomacy aren't your strong suit," Tyrion shot back.

  
"Well, suit yourself," Bronn said. "I'm not the one missing out on some prime...ladies."

* * *

 "If you want to come with me, you'll have to very, very quiet." Arya told Nymeria, wrapping her hands around Nymeria's muzzle. "If you make a sound the two of us will be dead, you understand?

 Arya could have sworn that Nymeria nodded at her words. "Good girl," she said, petting her direwolf. "Now come on, we have to know what Littlefinger's behind." 

 Winterfell was not without secrets of its own. Arya knew every one of its passages by heart, and her mother had precisely housed Littlefinger in the room where there were peeping-holes beneath a certain portrait. She noticed that the room was relatively quiet, and all Littlefinger was doing was reading some books and then going to bed. Arya hoped that there would be anything interesting, but there wasn't. For whatever reason, Littlefinger was a light sleeper. Throughout the night, he would alternate between sleeping and reading. It would always be the same book though. Arya realized that she needed to know what that book was about if she was going to have anything to report to Talisa in the morning. 

 Her eyelids were getting heavy. "Nymeria... you keep watch..." she told her direwolf, before she shot her eyes open when she sensed another person coming down the passageway. 

 "You've been here all night?" Arya heard Robb whispering towards them. 

 "Yes..." Arya yawned. "Talisa and the Hound told me to keep an eye on him so..." 

 Robb shook his head. "Come with me," he said. "If you're too tired, you can ride on Nymeria." 

 "But..." 

 "No buts, Arya." 

 Within the span of minutes, Arya, Robb and Nymeria entered their family's private dining room and Talisa immediately tended to Arya. "Stop spying on Littlefinger," Robb told Talisa. "I know that it's the smart thing to do, but we can't let him know that we don't trust him." 

 "Why not?" Arya asked, washing her face with the basin of water that the maids had brought them. "I mean..." In truth, Arya did not understand why they could not trust him other than the fact that he had the audacity to propose to Catelyn just after her sister had died. 

 "He's our uncle by marriage," Robb told Arya. "We can't be seen to be openly hostile towards him. Also, he'll know if you're spying on him. He has an entire network of spies that roughly equals to what the Spider has." 

 "What are you planning, then?" Talisa asked Robb. "What would you do with your uncle?"

 "We can't do anything," Robb replied. "We can't provoke him and nor can we harm him. He is now Mother's intended, and we can't touch him because he might be our step-father in the future." He then turned towards Arya and clasped both her shoulders in his hands. "Arya, I know that it's frustrating. Trust me, I share the exact same sentiments. But you have to follow my lead. Petyr Baelish didn't become a great lord from being a completely small one in the span of twenty years just because he's lucky." 

 Arya knew that there was completely no choice for her but to obey Robb. "But you do have plans for him, right?"

 Robb ruffled Arya's short hair and said, "We'll have to wing it this time." 

 Arya's jaw dropped while Talisa only shook her head. However, the Queen in the North understood that by forcing a mourning period of two years onto Littlefinger meant that there was a hint of a promise that he would sooner or later marry Catelyn, while they were able to keep him as far away from them as possible. "So, what are you going to ask him to do? Force him back to the Vale?"

 "Yes," Robb affirmed. "And we'll have a little bit of a deal with him as well, now that I think of it."

 "Seriously, you're going to wing  _everything_?"

 "Are we really going to have this conversation, Arya?"

 "We're at war, Robb!" 

 "Listen, it would be lovely if we could have an extensive network that knows everything before it happens, but as it turns out, we can't. We have Wildlings coming down on the Wall and Stannis to deal with. We can't afford to have the Vale breathing down our necks too."

 With all of Westeros encroached in war, Robb knew that only the North had the strength to dispel one enemy at any given time. His priority now was to secure the North before he could descend upon his enemies. He would not make the mistake that he did when the war had just started. Only if the North was truly strong would they have any hope in surviving the coming conflict. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It must be very, very tiring for the Starks and the Martells, plotting and scheming their way around Westeros, what with Littlefinger thrown into the mix. 
> 
> I like this politically-savvy Robb very much. It makes him less... dead, no?
> 
> Enjoy!


	46. The Instigators

  They were once again entrapped in one another. Sansa was beneath Oberyn, who was penetrating her, while Ellaria straddled her mouth, kissing Oberyn while Sansa pleasured Ellaria with her tongue. It was a chain of mutual ecstasy, each one of them giving to the other, and receiving from yet another. It was in such a circle that Sansa felt the safest. It was familiar, intimate and heated, where she knew that she could always return to. 

 She could feel Oberyn's warm hands on the curve of her breasts, and in one fluid, languid motion, she felt his manhood leaving her cavern, only to be replaced by two of his fingers. She breathed in deeply, and turned towards Oberyn, who was already joined with Ellaria. She had at first seized his lips, and they were soon joined by Ellaria. There were three tongues twisting and writhing around one another, hands all over and she could have sworn that she jumped a little when she felt Ellaria giving her pert bottom a cheeky squeeze. 

 "Oh, my loves," Oberyn cooed when both Sansa and Ellaria descended upon him, the two of them taking their turns to suck on his manhood, while the other sucked and nipped at the base of his shaft and his testicles. There would be times when they would even lick him simultaneously, stopping for a kiss or two in between. 

 His hands were at the back of their heads, coaxing them to continue. He was bucking into their mouths, or whatever crevice they would contain him in. He no longer knew what he was doing. All he knew was that he was reaching completion. It was their tongues that did him in. One last stroke of a tongue on the curvature of his testicles brought him to ecstasy, and sent ejaculate raining over the faces of both Ellaria and Sansa. When he had recovered, he wiped their faces off with a silk handkerchief that was lying on the side-table, peppering them with kisses after they were clean. 

 It was magical, the bond that they had shared. Open, fiery and wild. It was how they had loved, and they were unapologetic for it. Sansa knew that if there would be any time she would doubt what they have for each other, all she needed to do would be to have another go with them.

 "You were wonderful, my love," Ellaria praised. "There is little that we can teach you now." 

 Sansa merely let Oberyn curl his arm around her. "And soon, she will leave us for another," Oberyn joked, highly exagerrating the woe in his voice. Sansa no longer tolerated such jibes. She glared at him, gave him a strict swat on the shoulder and turned towards Ellaria, who welcomed her with a warm laugh. "And thus, the Princess rejects me..." 

 "You'll be sleeping on the couch if you so much as utter another word," Sansa growled in annoyance. 

 "Peace, love," Ellaria soothed. "Oberyn does not know his boundaries yet." 

 Sansa groaned, rolled her eyes and turned back towards Oberyn and he chuckled. "I don't mean to be morbid or unpleasant, my love," he told her. "But do you remember what I had promised you on our wedding night?"

 "I don't think I'll have anyone but you and Ellaria," Sansa retorted, looking directly into his eyes. "I..." 

 "You are still young and you will travel far and wide," Oberyn told her, tipping her chin. "I am not asking you to give yourself to whoever offers themselves to you, but to seize the opportunity should you wish it. As much as I wish to have you kept forever in a room with magnificent wines all for myself, that is not your destiny nor is it my fortune." 

 Those words made Sansa feel like she was the old her again. She had wanted so much to one day be of use to Oberyn and Doran, and when she had made her decision to offer her services to Daenerys Targaryen when the time was right, she already was looking back towards Oberyn and Ellaria. "I'm sorry," she sighed. "I'm just being stupid again." 

 "No one is always so sure of themselves," Ellaria offered. "You give yourself too little credit." 

 "And I fear that you give me too much," Sansa returned. "I mean..." 

 "You must have more faith in yourself," Oberyn added, kissing the tip of her nose. "You are now able to defend yourself, your political acumen is flawless. Now, my love, you will also become a beloved seductress. Cersei was right, that one of a woman's weapons lies between her thighs. It might not be one that will get rid of her enemies, Sansa, but it might gain her more than a few allies. You will enslave them, as you have enslaved Ellaria and I to you." 

 It was only then did Sansa realize Oberyn's intentions. "What kind of husband trains his wife to one day seduce others?" she asked him. "Most men would immediately discount you as either a fool or a madman," she told him. "I can't decide what you are at the moment." 

 "I am whatever you want me to be, my love," Oberyn returned, nibbling on her earlobe. "So long as you wish it." 

 Sansa rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut it," she scolded him mildly, trying to squirm out of his arms, but he only pulled her closer to him. 

 "No one's ever told me to 'shut it' before," he explained to her. "Not even Ellaria." It was a strange phrase to his ears. Personally, he would have used stronger, coarser language, but he knew that Sansa preferred a more demure diction. 

 Ellaria chuckled. "That's because I ask you to shut the fuck up when I need to," she added, gently prying Sansa's face away from Oberyn so that she could kiss her. 

 "You'll have to get used to it," Sansa told him, making herself comfortable in Ellaria's arms instead. "You were the one who chose me as your bride, anyways." 

 Oberyn deliberately left his mouth agape, pulling his face into a look of utter shock. However, he realized that Ellaria and Sansa were already fast asleep, curled around one another. Gently, he patted Sansa's head. There were so many things that he wanted to tell her, so many things that he wanted her to experience, but he knew that everything was going to be cut short. They had each their own duties to fulfill, and now, the time that they had borrowed had come to an end. 

 "You don't know how much it pains me to do this, my beautiful Sansa," he whispered, slipping the contents of a vial filled with sleeping-draught down her throat. "But I must, for your safety, and that of Westeros'." 

* * *

   Before coming to Dorne, Tyrion Lannister often asked himself what made Dorne so powerful. It was a land filled with deserts, and what arable land it had was made too salty by the fact that most of Dorne was surrounded by seawater. It wasn't the lemons, olives, pomegranates or even the exotic items traded from Essos that made Dorne rich. It was salt! 

 Salt was never packaged in forms that identified their producers. It was done to make sure that every particle of it fetched the fairest price, and every student of economics knew that the fairest price was always that the market demanded, and it would always demand the highest price. The Dornishmen had an ingenious way of making salt, and it was the cheapest. They simply scooped seawater from the sea, poured them into pans and left the seawater to evaporate under the sun, leaving only the salt. That salt would then be mixed with fresh water and the mixture would be left to evaporate again. This process was repeated and repeated over and over again until the purest salt particles remained. 

 To think that rich merchants in other areas of Westeros, namely the Vale, the Reach, the North and the Westerlands prided themselves in their vast, cavernous salt mines, where miners lived short lives to produce what little amount of salt they could. Dorne had been simply evaporating seawater for centuries, never giving out their secrets until now. It was no wonder at all that the Dornish houses were all rich, and they were so happy with the rule of the Martells. 

 "Lord Tyrion, we grant you this secret because we are grateful that you have treated my aunt so well during her sojourn at King's Landing," Prince Trystane told Tyrion when they were coming back from the nearest salt factory from the Water Gardens. "We have been producing salt in this manner since the time of my great-grandparents, and we have sworn all the maesters in the Citadel into secrecy by filling their own pockets with a good amount of it each year." 

 "And now you want me to keep that secret too," Tyrion said. "What makes you think that you could trust me to do so?"

 Trystane chuckled. "The elders of my family think that you are unlike your own," he told Tyrion. "Aunt Sansa thinks that you are honorable and wise, and my father trusts her judgment. Uncle Oberyn however, wishes to remind you that he saved your head from the executioner and that you would well remember your debt to our family." 

 "Ah yes," Tyrion sighed. "I surely won't forget about that." 

 In all truth, he had never thought that he would survive that trial by combat. He knew that he had won one before, thanks to Bronn, but when Oberyn told him that he would be his champion against the Mountain, he seemed to have lost all hope at one point of time. 

 "Come, I am to bring you to meet with my uncle and father," Trystane said. "Your sworn sword, Bronn, he is already waiting for you there." 

 Although Tyrion knew very well that Bronn swore no oaths to him, he was reluctant to explain the length of their arrangement to Trystane, so he let the minor error slide. Somehow, he suspected that he was entering some elaborate Martell plot, one that had been set in motion even before he had entered Dorne. He  _knew_  that they would not have so willingly let everything else happen around them. He entered Prince Doran's private study and found the two Martell brothers behind the ornate table, with Bronn bound and gagged in one corner. Brienne of Tarth stood over Bronn with her sword held close to his neck. 

 "Can you imagine that Brienne single-handedly took Bronn down?" Oberyn asked Tyrion mere seconds after he had entered Doran's study. Bronn rolled his eyes but Oberyn chuckled. "Alright, it took a long while, but Brienne did it all the same." 

 "Can I ask why is it you have my man held prisoner?" Tyrion asked. 

 "Well, you broke into our salt factories and stole our secrets, intending to give them to your father," Doran added. "We cannot tolerate such a transgression. What happens if you brought this information back to King's Landing, to your father or perhaps our rivals in the Reach?"

 Tyrion sighed. "Alright, we've gone through all the pleasantries. What do you really want with me?" It was no wonder that Trystane had so unsubtly hinted that his life was now indebted to the Martells. "You know, Bronn would most probably kill me if you pay him enough gold. So... there's that option for you." 

 "We know," Oberyn replied and nodded to Brienne to release Bronn. "However, we have a proposition for you." 

 "It doesn't sound as if it would bode well for me," Tyrion countered. "Can I refuse?"

 "You are not in a position to do so," Doran said. "Here you are in the heart of Dorne, so far away from King's Landing or Casterly Rock. We know your relationship with your family and we could easily slit your throat right now and they would rejoice." Tyrion knew that every bit of what Doran said was true about his family. He and Jaime had a rather cordial relationship, but if Cersei and Tywin really wanted his head, Jaime would not have the ability to stop and refuse them although he would try all he can to save him. "You are not like them, Tyrion Lannister."

 "What else has Princess Sansa told you?" Tyrion asked them both. 

 "That you have helped her many times before," Oberyn said. "And for that I am grateful." 

 "For that, we hold your life-debt to our family void," Doran dictated. "And we have a new deal for you, one that you  _won't_  refuse." 

* * *

 When Sansa woke, she realized that she was not on her bed in the Water Gardens, but on a ship. Lady was in a cell large enough to accommodate a beast of her size with lots of space for movement, right next to her cabin. There was no one in the hallway, and she quickly rushed up towards the deck. "Oberyn? Ellaria?" she called towards her lovers, but no one came. All she saw was the ship's sailors and Tyrion Lannister standing near the railing, looking back towards the mainland. "Tyrion, what are we doing here? Where are we going?"

 Tyrion Lannister sighed. "Do you want the long story or the short one?" he asked her. 

 Sansa gave him a pointed look and looked at the bow of the ship. "Since we're not on the  _Evening Star_ , I think that I want the long one," Sansa said. "Come on, I'll have someone set tea up for us on the deck. You are going to tell me everything about it." 

 "How do you know where we're going?" Tyrion exclaimed, puzzled. No one told him where he was going until now. All Oberyn and Doran said were that he was going to accompany Sansa to safety in Essos. No one ever said precisely where in Essos they were heading to. Even Brienne and Bronn were prevented from joining them, just to keep the facade that they were still in Dorne. 

 "This is the  _Silver Storm_ ," Sansa explained. "Doran and Oberyn commissioned this ship for me. We're going to Meereen." 

 It would not be the first time that any of the Martells made him drop his jaw. "Are you... certain?"

 "Of course I am," Sansa replied. "They told me that I would be on this ship the moment any danger comes to Dorne." 

 "But... Dorne is not in danger," Tyrion reasoned. "I've not even sent my report to my father yet." 

 "It doesn't matter," Sansa said. "They must have planned to do something, or else they wouldn't have gotten this ship to sail. Why are you here anyways?"

 "They said that I'd best get on the ship or they'd kill me," Tyrion answered truthfully. "I do like my head on my shoulders, and I decided that since I've seen so much of Westeros already..." 

 Sansa rolled her eyes. "You're not telling the truth," she grumbled. "This is getting nowhere." 

 "No, I wasn't," Tyrion said. "But I think you know very well why your husband did this. And since when did you ever complain about anything?"

 For the first time in his life, he heard Sansa snort. He bet that not even Oberyn had heard this. "I complained about everything once, but that's not the matter. I know what I'm going to do, but what do they want you in Meereen for?" If anything, Tyrion thought that this slight alteration in Sansa's character was her melding her former self and her new persona. It was a good sign, he thought, that she was finally finding a part of herself in this big, convoluted world they all lived in. 

 "Well, I don't know, really," Tyrion said, rubbing his temples. "So why don't you be a dear and put the tea on and we can exchange our sob stories?"

* * *

 "The armies of Dorne are massing, my lord," Varys told the Small Council. It had been weeks since Tyrion had reached Dorne. Given the lifestyles of his hosts, Tywin did not begrudge him for the tardiness of his report. He did, after all, task his son to give him a detailed report on Dorne, and such could only be accomplished after some amount of time observing the Dornishmen as they ran about their lives. "They said that Lannister and Tyrell soldiers were spotted setting to the private apartments of the Martells in the Water Gardens." 

 Mace Tyrell shook his head. "This is preposterous!" he exclaimed as the doors to the council's chambers were opened and some guards brought in the charred remains of the soldiers in question. They were as Varys described, wearing the armors of Tyrell and Lannister men. "Lord Tywin, this... this is a heinous accusation!" 

 "It is indeed," Tywin returned. "Varys, what do the Martells say about Tyrion?"

 "There was no word from Lord Tyrion," Varys said. "The Martells have also cited that Princess Sansa was kidnapped. She was not seen after they put out the fires."

 "They are the ones who have instigated this!" Pycelle raged. "My lord, the Martells must be stopped before they..."

 Tywin cleared his throat and no one dared to make a sound. "They are already in league, the Martells and the Starks," he said calmly, although he knew that he had been fooled for the better part of a year. "They were in league before Prince Oberyn married Sansa Stark." Now that he looked back, he realized that Tyrion's deadpan jokes were actually accurate. The fact that the Northern armies had all retreated to the North was now clear to him. It was so that the fight would be brought to them instead. It was an oversight that he knew would come back to haunt him limitlessly. 

 "The Martells must be stopped and the Starks as well," he said. "Send word to Petyr Baelish. Tell him that if he hands me Robb Stark's head, he will have Catelyn Stark and everything in the North as a gift to console him of his recent widowerhood. Or, if he would give me Doran and Oberyn's, he can have Sansa Stark if he finds her. The choice is up to him." 

 "My lord, is placing all your cards on Baelish wise?" Varys asked. "What if he swallows us all whole when he accomplishes either one?"

 Tywim slammed his palm onto the table. "I told you to contact Lord Baelish, and you will do so!" he shouted at Varys, a rare occurrence and the representation of what rage that stirred him to destroy the Reynes in his youth. "Am I clear?"

 Varys nodded and bowed. "I will get to it immediately." 

 "Good," he said and saw Varys off. "Lord Tyrell, would you be so kind as to summon Jaime to my study? There is much I would discuss with the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard." 

 "Very well, Lord Tywin." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY we are seeing some progress! I decided rather than have Tywin attacking Dorne for whatever reason, let Dorne start some of the party first. By party I mean uprising...
> 
> I know, Oberyn's being an utter meanie for leaving Sansa for Meereen like that, but hey, if they really had formal goodbyes, they'd be having hot goodbye-sex forever and ever and work can't be done at all. 
> 
> Enjoy! 
> 
> (Forgive me for not posting this past week. Work and life were in the way.)


	47. The Vision

 "Your Grace, Papa sent word," Nymeria told Robb, handing him a note from the raven that Oberyn had sent from Dorne. "They have framed the Crown for an attack on the Water Gardens after they sent Sansa off on the  _Silver Storm_  to Meereen with Tyrion Lannister as her hostage. They would 'start to rile the Reach up' when you give your agreement." 

 Robb read the contents of the letter and sighed. "Why are they starting this so soon?" he asked, his eyes immediately darting to the new map that the Northern cartographers had drawn. Ever since he had started to marshal his own armies, Robb had a slight obsession with maps. He always needed his to be the most current, and would send huge numbers of scouts throughout Westeros to learn of the latest positions and developments. 

 "They did not say," Nymeria shrugged. "However, Papa did say that they will stop if you want them to if they find your advise reasonable." 

 "Well then, we must not give our enemies too long to rest on their laurels, I guess," Robb returned. "Good job, Lieutenant Sand." 

 "Would you want to convene with the lords?" Nymeria asked him. Winterfell had underwent a significant restructuring since Robb's return. He had allowed himself and his lords two weeks of respite with their families, and when he went up the Wall, they all went with him although he remained at Castle Black to learn about the Night's Watch with Jon and Ser Alliser. When he returned to Winterfell, they followed him as well and they had never left unless of matters of great import in their lands. He would keep it that way. His decision was to keep Winterfell as the capital of the North, and to expand the keep to accommodate the lords of the various Northern houses and their immediate families. If the denizens of Winterfell could be united like those in Dorne, then he would at least try to emulate what their allies were doing. He knew that it would be a bumpy ride, but at least they would have to start from somewhere. 

 "Later," Robb told her. "I will broach the subject gently." 

 "Very well, Your Grace," Nymeria replied and gave him a small bow as she sought to leave his presence.

 "Nym, are you... busy with anything?"

 Nymeria looked as if she did not know how to answer his question. "Well... no, Your Grace," she said. "I was just going to find where Obara was." 

 "Oh, it's nothing," Robb said. "I was just wondering if you missed home, and Obara, of course." He looked towards her and found that she looked more startled than anything. "What? Was it something I said?"

 "No, Your Grace," Nymeria said. "It's just... Papa said that our younger sisters, Tyene and Sarella will be joining him. They won't be actively fighting, but... he told Obara and I that he is proud of us, serving under you. We've always known that, and he's never needed to say anything so..." 

 Robb clapsed her shoulder because she looked as though she was going to cry, not because she was homesick, but it was something else, something deeper and more profound. "I know what that's like," he told her. "When I mustered the Northern Armies, Father was locked up in a cell beneath the Red Keep, but my lords told me that he'd be proud of what I was doing. It's a great feeling, knowing that those you care about have great confidence in you." 

 "Yes, Your Grace," Nymeria said. "Thank you for your kind words." 

 "Don't mention it, Nym," Robb replied. "You must always remember you're not only my lieutenant, you're my niece through Sansa as well. Family is family here. Isn't it like that in Dorne too?"

 This time, Nymeria chuckled in earnest. "Yes, Your Grace, yes it is." 

 Robb smiled too. "So, run along now. I won't keep you from whatever it is you're going to do." 

 "Oh, it's nothing, I was going to look for Princess Arya to see if she wanted to spar-" 

 "Robb, you better come quick!" Just as Nymeria had mentioned Arya, she had came rumbling into the hallway, only stopping when she caught sight of her brother. "Talisa... Talisa's in labor!"

 "Wait, what?" Robb asked. He was not sure if he had heard Arya right the first time. "She's in labor?" His faced paled. "But... it's only been eight months!" Knowing the urgency of the situation, Robb immediately let Arya bring him into the birthing chamber. It had already been prepared since their return to Winterfell. He knew where it was, but he had feared that in the state that he was after receiving the news, he would not be even able to walk. He knew the danger of childbirth. It was his first time being a father, and he did not know what to expect. All he knew that it was going to be a horrendously painful time for Talisa and he was to be blamed for it for putting the babe in her womb, and now it was an impatient one. 

 Sadly for him, the door to the chamber was already barred. Obara served as a door-guard and would not let anyone in without Catelyn's say-so. "The birthing chamber is no place for men," Obara told Robb firmly, closing the door shut after she let Arya in.

 "That's my wife and child in there!" Robb exclaimed. "I  _demand_  that I be allowed to enter." 

 Still, Obara shook her head. "You know, I stood watch when Ellaria gave birth to my sisters and my father never did once  _dare_  to cross me," she reminded Robb, deliberately hitting the end of her spear onto the stone floor. "What can you do when you get in there, Your Grace? Hold her hand and say comforting words? Your presence there will only distract the Queen, which is far more dangerous than you staying out here." 

 Nymeria gave Robb a sympathetic nod. "She's right, Your Grace," she said. "You would be doing more harm than good if you go in." 

 Robb only sighed and sat in the chair opposite the doors of the birthing chambers, knowing that scratching the door down with his bare fingers was not an option. 

 Talisa's screams were excruciating to hear from the outside. They would be even harder to bear from within the chamber. "Arya, get us more hot water and clean towels," Catelyn told Arya, who nodded and rushed out of the room, completely ignoring Robb, who was most likely moping outside. She had quickly returned with everything that was needed. 

 "She is losing too much blood," Maester Marlan said. "If it goes on like that, I fear that mother and child will die." Catelyn shot Marlan a deadly look as Talisa tried hard to push, and the maester prudently kept his silence. Inauspicious things could not be said in the birthing chamber, not because of their nature, but they would have tremendous effects on the mother who was giving birth. Turning towards Talisa, he soothed, "Your Grace, you must push. The baby is early, which means it is a small one..." 

 Talisa got his meaning and nodded. She pushed and pushed, not knowing what result it would bring. "Is it coming?" she asked her mother-in-law and the maester. 

 "I... I see the head!" Maester Marlan exclaimed. "A few more pushes, and the baby will come." 

 Talisa steeled her nerves and did as she was told. It took only two pushes for the baby to come out, and it came out screaming, thankfully. It was just a little small. "My baby..." she rasped, looking towards Catelyn with tears in her eyes. She did not know if they were tears of exhaustion or joy. 

 "You have a prince, child," Catelyn told her while the nursemaids quickly cleaned the baby up and kissed her forehead. "It's a boy!" 

 "Name him Eddard," Talisa told her mother-in-law. There was something in her eyes that did not belie a woman that was celebrating the birth of her newborn baby. She looked like a woman embracing death. "Mother, call Robb, please." Her husband came running in the moment Arya opened the doors. "Robb... our son..." 

 The baby was gingerly placed into Robb's arms. He was crying loudly, and was a little small. "He looks just like his mother," Robb told her. Their son's skin had a slight copper sheen, but inherited his father's blue eyes. His hair was straight like that of Talisa's, even. "The North has a Prince Ed now." 

 "I'm glad," Talisa said. "An heir to your family, as you need so much..." 

 "I need you by my side as well, Talisa," Robb told her. "What are you talking about?" 

 Using what remained of her strength, Talisa caressed the side of Robb's cheek. "Oh, my sweet, sweet Robb," she cooed to both her husband and her son. "As much as I want to continue living on with you, I cannot," she told him. She was not a fool, but a healer above all. She  _knew_  her body, and she knew from the moment when she was in labor, she had little chance to survive. She prayed. She prayed to her husband's Old Gods, to the Seven Gods that came to Westeros from Essos, to the Lord of Light, she called to all the Gods to preserve her child, and her prayers were answered. In the end, it was the Many-Faced God that would take her away. 

 "You're not going anywhere!" Robb sobbed even as their son sensed his anguish and began to cry again. "You're staying with us!" 

 "If I could, I would," Talisa told him. "Perhaps we would meet in another world, another life, where I am a golden-haired scullery maid and you a dashing prince come to save me from my wicked stepmother..." 

 "Talisa!" he chastised her, for even near death she would have such deadpan fantasies. "Think about our son." 

 A tear escaped her eyes. "Promise me that you will take good care of him," she pleaded him, her voice getting weaker and weaker by the second. 

 "I will protect him with my life," Robb swore. "He's our Ed, Talisa. I'd do everything for him." 

 Talisa nodded, and let Robb pull her into his arms for one last kiss. "Tell... my mother and father... tell them that I lived a beautiful life as their daughter. I thank them for everything. Tell them... that I am sorry that I didn't become a famous healer in Westeros, but the Queen in the North..." Even near death, she wanted to be remembered as who she had been in life. "Robb..." 

 "What?" 

 "I love you..." 

* * *

  _She was looking at a woman giving birth to a child. From how she looked she thought that the woman was Volantene, but she was surrounded by a stone walls and people draped in furs. She must be from somewhere very, very cold. Could it be Winterfell? The Volantene woman had a difficult birth, and she knew that the chances of her surviving this birth were little. Ser Barristan told her that the King in the North had returned to his lands for reasons unknown, so, she must have been looking at his Queen? If so, it would be a disturbing thing to see..._

_The Queen had now given birth, and the King was called into the birthing chamber. She watched as they exchanged their last words to each other. A painful thing to watch, because she knew what it was like to be parted from one so loved. She knew what it was like to carry a child without the child surviving. She_  understood  _everything that played out before her eyes. Yet, there was some strength in the child. This child was not merely a Westerosi child with Essos ancestry. She could see it in his eyes. He would be a great king one day._

_She hoped that the King would one day have a better fate. She hoped that one day, all would be well with him and his family._

_"Oh... Robb..."_

_There was another voice. A woman's voice. One that did not belong. She turned around and saw a girl. She had the King's blue eyes and his mother's red hair. She was Sansa Stark!_

_"What are you doing here?" Sansa asked her. "I thought... this was my vision?"_

_She shook her head. "I do not understand it either," she told the other woman. "My... condolences to your family."_

_Sansa nodded and sighed. "Poor, poor Robb," she said. "And the baby..."  She had thought that Talisa truly made him happy, and the fact that she was pregnant gave them hope for the survival of their family. It was cruel to have them parted at such a pivotal time. She could not imagine the same happening to her, Oberyn and Ellaria... Such news would even enforce Oberyn's belief that her having a child at this time was a risk that they dared not take._

_"I am not a stranger of such pain," she told Sansa. "I lost a child and then a husband..." However, Sansa did not hear her. She just continued to look at her family, while she felt as if she was getting pulled away from whatever that she was seeing._

* * *

 "Your Grace... Your Grace!" 

 Missandei was shaking Daenerys, who had collapsed suddenly in the hallway on their way to the throne room. Thankfully, she woke up just as suddenly as she had collapsed. 

 "I'm fine, Missandei," she told her translator and majordomo. "I just... had a vision." 

 "A vision, Your Grace?" Missandei asked. "May I ask of what?"

 "The North," was all Daenerys could say at first. "I was in the North, looking at the Starks. Sansa... I saw Sansa as well..." 

 "Dorne has sent a message, Your Grace," Missandei added after a small gulp. "They are sending Princess Sansa with a hostage to you. The ship will arrive in three days." 

 Daenerys raised an eyebrow. "Why would Dorne bring them to me?" she asked. "What do they intend?"

 However, Missandei shook her head. "Even Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah are confounded. They will speak to you about this after you meet the people." 

 "Then we must go quickly," Daenerys said, dusting off her dress. "Come, we can't let the people wait too long for us." 

 "Yes, Your Grace."

* * *

  Tyrion Lannister was having tea with Sansa in near one of the windows on the lower deck when she suddenly collapsed. He had tried to seek help, but the very moment he saw Sansa's eyes turn a strange, cloudy white, he hesitated. The fact that she neither struggled nor seemed fearful in the mere seconds before her collapse meant that she knew that such a thing was going to happen to her. Once she hit the floor, she turned completely still, not moving an inch until she took a deep gasp of air and opened her eyes again. The entire process took about three minutes, Tyrion guessed. 

 "Did anyone see what happened?" Sansa asked as she climbed back to her chair, her voice and body shaking slightly. 

 Tyrion shook his head in earnest. "No one saw," he swore. "What... happened Sansa? Are you narcoleptic, because if you are, you wouldn't have your eyes opened..." 

 "I'm not narcoleptic," Sansa said. "Tyrion... you mustn't tell anyone what you saw. If you did, I'll have to kill you and I swear it." Right before his eyes, Sansa drew a dagger that was sheathed in her boots and gave quite a show that she knew how to use a blade to defend herself. 

 "I'm your hostage, dear Sansa," Tyrion told her. "If I did anything to you, not only Dorne would have my head, but the North as well. Look, you don't have to tell me what happened to you if you don't want to. But if you want me to be able to help you when the same thing happens again..."

 Sansa sighed. "I'm a Greenseer, Tyrion," she said. "I've been like that since... since I met Oberyn. I don't know what lead to it, but... apparently it's because there's First Men blood in my veins." 

 Tyrion grimaced pointedly. "Well that seems to be the least of your worries, isn't it?" He had read that being able to see into the future or across vast distances was a terrible gift, not because of the nature of the gift itself. It was the fact that the one having the gifts would not be able to stop whatever was happening. "How did you know that you were a Greenseer?"

 "I was meeting Ellaria for the first time and I just... collapsed like I did just now," she answered. "It happened infrequently, but luckily for me, Oberyn and Ellaria were always there when I had my... visions." 

 "I won't tell anyone, I promise," he reassured her. Then, Sansa started to tear up. "What's the matter?"

 Sansa shook her head. "I'm going to give him a good knock on his head the next time I see him," she seethed, having been reminded of her husband's actions. "In all honesty, no matter how handsome and how... gallant Oberyn is, he treats me as if I'm a porcelain doll. He trains me how to fight, but only with a dagger. He indulges me in everything but... it feels as though he is actually too scared to do anything else. I'm sorry... I must be boring you about my marriage." 

 "On the contrary, Sansa," Tyrion said. "You are married to Oberyn Martell of all people.  _Everyone_  will want to know about your marriage. I'm sure dear Queen Margery would  _faint_  at anything you give her, in fact." He knew how the Red Keep tittered and gossiped after Sansa's wedding to Oberyn. Many people wondered how the marriage bed would fit three, particularly when Oberyn openly flaunted his paramour and Sansa did not openly despise the woman. Maids came and went saying that they saw all three of them locked in the embrace of lovers, kissing and carousing one another when they thought no one was looking. 

 "I know he loves me," Sansa said. "But... I just don't understand why he does all these things. I know that I said that I wanted to be of use to everyone, but... why would he so willingly put me on this ship?" 

 "Sometimes, people do crazy things when they're in love," Tyrion told her, words that came from the bottom of his heart although Sansa might not know it. He too, had things that he had never told Sansa before, but he trusted her quick intuition to be able to grasp his meaning. 

 "Whatever happened to Shae?" Sansa asked him, causing his eyes to widen. "The two of you were... a..." 

 "Well, she's finally seen herself back home in Lorath," Tyrion said. "She came running to me after the trial. She told me that Cersei's men found her and said that they would kill her if she didn't do what she did at court. I told her that I forgive her and gave her a chain of silver coins so that she'll have a comfortable life back home." 

 Sansa poured him more tea as she nodded in understanding. "I hope she finds some amount of happiness there," she said. 

 "Wait... how  _did_  you find out about Shae and I?"

 "Tyrion..." 

 "Sansa, I want to know!" 

 "Well, the thing is..." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what, I'm actually not sorry that I killed Talisa off. If everything was right and rosy in the world, then I would have a hard time writing because there's no conflict to be had. At the very least, let's welcome little Eddie Stark to the world! 
> 
> I know that Greenseers might or might not be similar to whatever Targaryen seers can see, but I would like to think that that Dany and Sansa have some sort of a bond. 
> 
> No, I'm not starting to ship Sansa and Tyrion. 
> 
> Enjoy!


	48. New Responsibilities

 Arya thought that Robb would be inconsolable when Talisa died. She was wrong. Instead of breaking into tears, he looked after his son meticulously, even changing him when little Eddie soiled his nappies. He made sure that the wet nurses fed his son well, and that he would always have his father's company. Talisa's funeral had been a simple one. She was cremated and half her ashes were sent towards Volantis, along with a personally-written letter by Robb. He had dictated his message to Maester Marlan, who translated and transcribed it into High Valyrian and he copied the letter in his own hand. The other half of Talisa's ashes was interred in the Stark crypts. A statue was carved in her likeness, placed next to that of his aunt Lyanna's. 

 When the official mourning period was over, Robb said goodbye to his son and marched back towards the Wall. "Take care of Eddie for me, Arya," Robb told his sister, who was the last to leave in the honor-guard sent from Winterfell to farewell the army that was leaving for the Wall. "He is the last hope of the North." No word was sent of Eddie's birth. Not even to Dorne. It was decided between the Northern lords and their King's family that they would keep his birth a secret until their foothold was strong enough. News was sent to the Citadel proclaiming that the Queen in the North had died as a result of a terrible miscarriage, that the King in the North was now a young widower. 

 Arya nodded. "I will," she promised her brother. She knew that he trusted her. Ever since he had returned from the Wall, he had her by his side. He wanted her to learn on her feet as he did. He wanted her to learn how to govern a nation and not just a keep. With Bran venturing into the wild and Rickon in the Last Hearth, disguised as a refugee with Osha protecting him. In the end, it was their mother that decided that Rickon should remain with the Umbers, lest more harm comes to him in Winterfell. 

 "I'm counting on you for the defense of Winterfell as well," Robb told her, handing her a piece of parchment. "I am making you Lady Protector of the North until this war is over," he continued as she read the parchment over. "You will be the first woman in Westeros to hold such a position and the youngest too." He also knew that such a responsibility would be one that would ground her to Winterfell. She would not be as likely to go gallivanting around in her adventures, hoping that his attempt would actually work. "You know all there is to know about our home. You'll defend it with your very last breath, do you understand me?"

 "I will," she said, gulping. It was an immense responsibility that she was taking on, and she knew that she would die before she let anyone down. 

 "That's a good girl," Robb told her. "I will be leaving Nymeria with you. I want you to listen to her, but also to trust your instincts when it comes to making decisions. A wise ruler always listens to what others have to say, but more than anything, they trust in themselves above others. Do what you feel is right." 

 "Robb, are you sure that you're alright?" Arya asked him after she hugged him goodbye. "You know..." 

 Robb sighed. "I'll be fine," he reassured her. "Childbirth has its risks. Talisa was a healer. She knew them too well. You're still so young, Arya. The people that we know and love would come and go and those that leave will still forever leave a mark in you. They are gifts, Arya. Always remember that." He said those words in earnest, through experience. All of them had been through so much pain and loss ever since their father left Winterfell, and he knew that Arya would understand what he said. 

 "She is a strong one," Obara told Robb as the honor-guard rode away. "She reminds me much of my sister Elia. Nym and that direwolf of hers are all she needs." 

 "I hope so," Robb said. "I leave Winterfell in the hands of my youngest sister because she's the only one I've got. If I could, Arya should have been freely roaming the wide world like my aunt Lyanna once did. They say that she is Aunt Lyanna come to the world again." 

 "The days forwards will only be harder, I fear," Obara warned. "With Stannis quickly approaching the North and the Wildlings descending upon us. We have much work to do." 

 Agreeing, Robb dug his heels into his horse's sides. "Then we must seek to reach the Wall in all haste," he said. The sooner they reached the Wall, the quicker work could get done. 

* * *

 It must have been a great shock to everyone that Dorne really  _had_   fifty thousand soldiers. Ten thousand of them were in the North and ten thousand remained in Dorne to defend their own lands. The rest of the thirty thousand were currently in open display in Sunspear. A military exercise meant for the eyes of Tywin Lannister. Of course, they would not march as of yet, but a few attempts in threatening the other areas were necessary. Doran watched from the balcony in his chair while Oberyn inspected every single rank of their men on horseback. 

 The smallfolk were cheering. They cheered for their princes and they prayed for a good outcome of the war. They had always stood with their rulers. They had known no other rulers nor would they stand for conquerers. House Martell had treated them well and so would they prosper under them. They would continue to support them because they saw no reason not to. 

 "The Princess should be here," Brienne bemoaned. "Or rather, I should have been on the ship with her." 

 "The Princess is off to convince some other princess to come back home," Bronn returned. "You wouldn't be of much help, I think." 

 Brienne glared at him. "Watch your words, Bronn," she warned him through gritted teeth. "You would regret them if you don't." 

 "Was I wrong?" he asked her. "Here you are, Sworn Sword to Princess Sansa Stark of House Martell, but she's all the way in Meereen and you're stuck here at Sunspear. When the fight comes, you're back to becoming a little common soldier." 

 "The Princess is away on a diplomatic mission to Meereen," Brienne emphasized. "Until then, I will do all I can to aid in the war. What about you? Without Lord Tyrion, aren't you a little common soldier too?"

 Bronn merely nodded with a chuckle. "That's true, aye, but you don't know me very well, do ya?" he asked. "I was a cutthroat before I was a knight. So my station was practically elevated by becoming a little common soldier, technically." 

 Brienne looked as if she was going to punch Bronn in the face, tired of his countless tirades, but she was stopped from doing so by Ellaria. "The two of you are summoned by Doran," she told them. 

 Knowing that she could not disobey, Brienne lowered her fist and went with Ellaria while Bronn smugly followed the two of them. He rather enjoyed Dorne. He had taken to teasing Oberyn's third daughter, Tyene, every now and then and once earned a hard hit from her for insinuating that she had "fought pretty well for a little girl" during a sparring match. 

 When they got up to the balcony, Doran was already joined by Oberyn. "I have a small request to ask of the two of you," Doran told them. "Although no one would ever recognize the fact, but the two of you are among the best fighters in Westeros in your own rights. For that matter, Lady Brienne of Tarth and Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, I would have you to have formal commissions in the Dornish army if you would have them." Of course, he was emulating what Robb Stark was doing with his own Northern armies. It was a sign of not only respect, but also unity. Oberyn's daughters, Obara and Nymeria were now high-ranking fighters in the North, and he would do the same with them. "Lady Brienne, you will be known as Lieutenant Brienne and Ser Bronn, Captain Bronn, only because Ser Bronn has had more combat experience. You will both serve under my brother's banner." 

 Both of them bowed their heads low and thanked Doran. They turned to Oberyn and gave him polite nods of their own. "Captain, Lieutenant, I will expect our days of service to be very... interesting indeed," Oberyn told them. 

 "It'll be interesting if you add in some alcohol and some girls," Bronn suggested, much to Brienne's displeasure. "But... the lady would think that it is a bad idea." 

 "I shall be open to it, I think," Oberyn added. "But we shall have to see." He knew that Brienne would not agree to any debauchery that would somehow affect Sansa in her absence. "But there is still much more to be done. Captain, you are in charge of training the soldiers. We need them to be in perfect shape." 

 "Aye, Prince Oberyn," Bronn replied and got to the job immediately. 

 After he left, Brienne scowled. "Are you all sure that he'll do a good job as Captain?" she asked Doran and Oberyn as respectfully as she could. "I don't trust him. He's nothing more than a scoundrel." 

 "He might be a scoundrel, but he is one that has been behind enemy lines," Doran explained. "So long as we pay him better than Tyrion Lannister has paid him, his loyalty is ours. Besides, he is not without scruples. That is what he wants everyone else to think." To others, Bronn was simply a highly elevated cutthroat just because he killed the right people, but there were so many others like him in King's Landing disregarding the circumstances of their birth. What made Bronn different from the rest was his peace with his station in life. He openly admitted that he was a hired killer and was proud of it. It was this unapologetic outlook that what made the Martell brothers enjoy him so. 

 Still, Brienne's mind was not eased. "The Lannisters can easily outbid us," she reasoned. "Look, I'm not saying this because -" 

 "We know, Brienne," Oberyn told her, holding a hand up. "But have you realized what the Lannisters did when we accused them that Tyrion kidnapped Sansa? Precisely nothing. Where was the fury that they had when Catelyn Stark held Tyrion hostage? Where was the anger when Jaime Lannister was imprisoned by Robb Stark? The Imp means nothing to them, and even you would know it to be true." 

 "It would be a measure that Sansa will approve of," Ellaria added gently. 

 "Approve?" Brienne shot back. "The Princess is heading to Meereen without her prior approval. How would the two of you face her when she returns?"

 Oberyn tried to give Brienne his most charming smile. "I will deal with the wrath of my sweet wife when that time comes," he told her. Of course Sansa would be infinitely displeased with him. He meant his words. He would take the brunt of her anger for the nature of her departure. He stood by his belief that she would be safer leaving first than if Dorne was attacked. "I hope that you understand, Brienne, that every decision I make, it is in the interests of Sansa. Ellaria would have had my head if she did not agree with me." 

 Ellaria only sighed. There were some things that she could not change particularly when Oberyn had made his mind. Like how he had decided to face the Mountain, he had already decided on Sansa's early departure to Meereen the moment she had volunteered herself to be the ambassador for the Stark-Martell alliance. However, she did not react the way she did when he told her that he would be Tyrion Lannister's champion against the Mountain. She knew that sending her away would be harder on him than anything. He had fallen into his own trap and had fallen so deep for Sansa that he was surely doomed. 

 "I'm sure that Sansa would be seething in rage, but she is doing her duty and so should you," Doran reminded Brienne, who bowed her head in deference. "You are dismissed, my dear." When Brienne left, Doran cast a knowing glance towards Oberyn. "She is right, you know. You could have at least not drugged Sansa before you put her on that ship." 

 "Doran, it is not for her that I did such a thing," Oberyn explained. "I fear that once she looks back, I would either join her or bring her back. I don't know what magic she has worked on me, but..." 

 "I do not know if it is a curse or a blessing that you have two women that love you and that you love them as well," Doran interjected, smiling at his younger brother. "Mother would have been proud of you." 

 "Mother... would most probably sit me down and have a very long conversation about consent and willingness," Oberyn recalled. "Father would have just hit me in the head. Sansa... nothing comes close to her, brother." 

 Doran chuckled. "If she would have wanted the Iron Throne for herself, you would be the one to fetch it for her, no?" he asked. 

 Oberyn did not need to answer. His face had already said everything. 

* * *

  When the ship had arrived at the docks just outside the city of Meereen, Sansa did not expect to have anyone welcome them, but in fact, they were met with Ser Barristan Selmy, who came with another horse. "It is good to see you again, Princess," Ser Barristan told her. "You have grown much since we last saw each other." 

 Sansa smiled. She would always remember the day when Ser Barristan was forcibly removed from his position as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Just after he was dismissed that she knelt before Joffrey to beg for mercy on her father's behalf. "You are too kind, Ser Barristan," she replied with a low bow. "I... didn't expect that the Queen would garner me such a warm welcome." 

 "It is always good to know a familiar face in a strange land," Ser Barristan replied. He then turned towards Tyrion. "Lord Tyrion, I am sorry, but as Princess Sansa's hostage, I must have you in chains." 

 Tyrion sighed and held his hands up. "Well, let's get on with it then," he said. He looked towards Sansa, trying to gauge her expression, but he found it to be quite unreadable. She rarely ever revealed any form of expression in court too, after Ned Stark was executed, now that he remembered it. It must have been her trying to put on her politician's mask. "Beautiful work on the pyramid though. I love the... bosoms of the harpies." 

 Ser Barristan then helped Sansa up her horse and had Tyrion on the same one as he did. "I will bring you to the Great Pyramid," he told the two of them. "Queen Daenerys has been waiting anxiously for your arrival, Princess." 

 "And we are all dying to see her," Tyrion quipped. "Tell me, Ser Barristan, how did you all do it? Meereen is one of the greatest cities of Slaver's Bay, enshrined in Ghiscari and Valyrian traditions. How is it that a handful of nobles from Westeros, three dragons and 8000 Unsullied take one such city?"

 "Call it whatever you will," Ser Barristan answered. "Be it sheer ingenuity or sheer luck. The Queen had the idea to appeal to the slaves in the city. We fired slave-collars from Yunkai and Astapor above the city walls, and they turned against their own masters. She had the Great Masters crucified to posts after her conquest." 

 "Is the Queen open to the notion of an alliance with Dorne and the North?" Sansa asked Ser Barristan directly as the Great Pyramid loomed closer and closer. Meereen was a city unlike another: large, sprawling and beautiful. Its sheer scale could only have been possible by pure ingenuity and back-breaking work. The Meereenese engineers and architects must have been geniuses, but all that beautiful would not have been possible without the labor of the slaves that they owned and traded, chipping at the buildings, maintaining it through the centuries. 

 Ser Barristan looked towards Sansa and smiled. "The Queen was... surprised when Prince Doran sent us the missive that you were coming," he told her in all honesty. "She has only heard of rumor that there were those in Westeros that prayed for a Targaryen return. But now, the North and Dorne are rallying towards her... Her Grace has her hope renewed, so to speak." 

 There was a look of determination in Sansa's face then. They were terribly close to the Great Pyramid and Tyrion knew that things would certainly not go in all the ways that Daenerys Targaryen would like. He knew that the Starks and the Martells  _did_  want a Targaryen on the Iron Throne again, but Robb Stark had never changed his demands. Robb's goals had always been to secure the independence of the North. If that was true, then Seven Kingdoms would become Six. To add to the complications, Dorne was  _never_  conquered. It was married into the throne, which meant that if alliances were to be redrawn, Daenerys would have to settle with a mere  _Five_ Kingdoms. 

 Sansa's face had become one of steel the moment they stepped into the Great Pyramid. Ser Barristan expertly led them into the throne room, where Daenerys was seated upon a beautifully-crafted chair, on top of a platform of raised steps that resembled a pyramid. Beside the Silver Queen were Ser Jorah Mormont, the Tyroshi sellsword that she had seen in her visions and the Naathi girl that served as her translator. "You stand before Queen Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of Meereen, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons," the Naathi girl announced once Sansa and Tyrion were at the doorway to the throne room. 

 "You may come closer," Daenerys said, looking at Sansa directly. There she was, the girl that appeared in her visions. She was taller than Daenerys had expected. Her hair held more red and her demeanor less... armored. 

 Ser Barristan was the one who announced her. "Your Grace, this is Princess Sansa Stark of the House Martell, the Lady Ambassador to Meereen from Westeros. With her is Lord Tyrion of the House Lannister, former Master of Coin at the Small Council. We believe that Princess Sansa comes to you with a Lannister hostage." 

 "Lord Tyrion is my hostage indeed, Your Grace," Sansa said, stepping forwards. "He is the brother of Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, who took the life of Your Grace's father during the Sack of King's Landing under their father's orders. He is yours to be done as you wish." 

 Daenerys nodded and smiled at Sansa. "You have given me a kingly gift then," she said and clapped her hands. Out of nowhere, two Unsullied appeared and started to take Tyrion away. 

 "Wait, where are you taking me?" Tyrion demanded and cast a look towards Sansa and then at Daenerys. "I thought I was going to be a diplomatic hostage, not a real one!" 

 Daenerys then halted the Unsullied. "Oh, was that right?" she asked Tyrion. "Tell me, why should the brother of my father's murderer be shown mercy, particularly by my hand?" 

 "I can be of use to you," Tyrion offered. "My Queen, you only have soldiers and sellswords to advise you. I was the Acting Hand of the King for a whole year and I was Master of Coin for two. I  _know_  a thing or two." 

 At his words, Daenerys nodded and Tyrion was set free. "Then a diplomatic hostage you shall be, Tyrion Lannister," she proclaimed. "And you, Princess Sansa, I heard rumor that your brother and brother-in-law calls for my return to Westeros. Is it true?"

 "Yes, it is," Sansa answered. "They are waiting for you and your dragons, to come upon Westeros as your ancestor Aegon the Conquerer once did." 

 "Very well," Daenerys said. "You shall dine with us tonight, dear Princess. We are after all, family, are we not?" Her brother Rhaegar had married Elia Martell, who was Sansa's late sister-in-law. The relation was rather distant, but those were cards that the two of them were playing with one another and so she would play them well. She turned towards Tyrion and said, "You shall come along as well, I suppose." 

 "Thank you, Your Grace," Sansa and Tyrion said in unison. 

 "Missandei, please show our guests to their chambers," Daenerys continued. 

 "Yes, Your Grace," Missandei bowed. She quickly descended the steps and went down to greet Sansa and Tyrion. "Please, follow me." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone, welcome Princess Arya, Lady Protector of the North and Princess Sansa, the Lady Amabassador, yay!
> 
> I know that it's hard to have Talisa dead, but things aren't over for Robb. Nope. I have something up my sleeve. Heh. heh heh. 
> 
> Also, finally, Sansa gets to Meereen, how exciting! I have quite a lot of ideas now that she's there and you'll just have to read on to find out what they are. 
> 
> Today's pop culture reference comes from Star Wars. 
> 
> Enjoy!


	49. First Impressions

 It was strange to see a direwolf take to the hot weather of Meereen so easily. Lady was extremely well-behaved during the voyage from Dorne and she was even happier to be back on dry land. Once Lady's crate had come into the Great Pyramid, she went running towards Sansa, shocking Missandei, who was showing her around at the time, to no end. 

 "Forgive me, I've never seen an animal like that before," Missandei apologized after Sansa had calmed Lady down. 

 "There's nothing to worry about, really," Sansa offered, scratching Lady's head. "Lady is very friendly and well-trained." She turned to Lady and said firmly, "Lady, sit." Thus, Lady sat rather demurely beside Sansa, much to a very amused Missandei. "Here, you can pet her head if you want to." 

 Slowly, Missandei approached Lady with her hand outstretched. She was hesitant at first, but Lady's calm demeanor brought her a little more courage. However, Lady stood up and nuzzled herself against Missandei's hand. "She is friendly indeed," Missandei replied, despite the fact that Lady was almost as big as a horse from the ground to the shoulder. 

 "Lady likes you," Sansa explained. "If she didn't, she would rip your throat out and eat you for supper." Immediately, Missandei withdrew her hand and looked towards Sansa in utter fear. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to scare you, I..." As if she understood Sansa's regret in her choice of words, Lady stood by her and whimpered, lowering her head as well. Such a display actually calmed Missandei down enough that she could not help but chuckle. It was almost unbelievable. There she was, the Princess of Dorne and the North that Daenerys could only see in visions, in the flesh with a man-eating direwolf and they were doing all they could to prove to her that they were harmless. 

 "It is alright, Princess Sansa," Missandei said. "You are right indeed that Lady is well-trained. Would you like to house Lady in a courtyard?"

 Sansa shook her head. "Lady will be fine in my room," she said. "Lady goes everywhere with me. But... she will need about two chickens for lunch and dinner each day if that's not too much of a bother." 

 Missandei smiled. "The chickens are not a problem, Princess," she said. It would be a better alternative than having the direwolf eat the general populace of Meereen out of hunger, at any case. "Dinner will be served in two hours. Would you need me to come and bring you to the dining hall?"

 "Yes please," Sansa smiled and led Lady back to her room. There, she gathered a few pieces of paper and started to lay on her bed. For the first time in a year, there was no one that she could turn to when she was in bed. It was a strange feeling. She was there in Meereen. She had already finished half of her journey. She was there in Queen Daenerys' court. Yet, why did it feel so empty? She did not understand... why was there a kind of beat in her heart that turned her thoughts towards home? Home? She did not even know what "home" had meant to her now. Was it Winterfell or was it Dorne? Was it Westeros as a whole, because she had called three cities in it her home at three different times of her life?

 Her first instinct was that she had missed her family. Oberyn and Ellaria were the first in her thoughts. She wondered what they must have been doing. Ellaria told her that if war were to break out, she would bring Elia and the rest of the Sand Snakes back to her father's home, to Hellholt where she would wait the war out. That would mean Tyene and Sarella would remain by Oberyn's side. All four of the older Sand Snakes would then be involved in the war, somehow or other. 

 She also had no news from the North, probably because she had left so abruptly. She knew that Talisa had passed and that Robb had a son, but... she did not know about the others. Jon, Arya, Rickon and Bran... ever since they miraculously talked to one another, across space and time, they had not spoken together ever since. She had tried so many times, but failed to even contact Arya. She had tried warging secretly, and was able to succeed in entering Lady's mind with great ease, but she could not control that hold. She was quickly ejected from Lady and the effects on her was the same as entering a vision via Greensight. She would shake and she would be so weak that she would be bedridden for hours. 

 If Oberyn were here, he would have held her until she stopped shaking. It was something that even Ellaria did not do. He had been the one to catch her since she fell the first them she had her visions, but the last time it happened, there was no one there to hold her. She had weathered by her own and she knew that she had to continue to do so, as long as it took. 

 There she was, in Meereen. There she was in the city that she had dreamed of seeing when she saw Daenerys taking it in her own visions. What was she hesitating about? She was not a princess. She was not the Lady Ambassador... she was just a stupid little girl that did not know how to do her own job properly...

 "Princess Sansa?"

 A male voice interrupted her thoughts, accompanied by a few polite knocks on her door. She opened the door only to find a rather handsome figure, dark haired with jade-colored eyes. He was armored, but bore a smile that she instantly recognized. It was the smirk of a known womanizer. A dangerous one that her husband had also worn. 

 "Princess Sansa, my name is Daario Naharis," the man introduced himself. "Missandei is somewhat... occupied with her duties with Her Grace, the Queen and she sent me to bring you to dinner." 

 "Oh, yes, of course," Sansa replied. "Could you please wait for me for ten minutes?" she asked him. Had it been two hours already since Missandei had left her? How could she even lose track of time at all?

 "Not a problem, princess," Daario said and stood right where he was. 

 Sansa dashed into her chambers and tried to wash and put on a new outfit as fast as she could. In the end, she decided not to do anything to her hair, for she was too pressed for time. She had chosen to wear her wedding dress instead of any of the stately gowns that Oberyn had made for her. She decided that it would have been too much for her to remind the Queen of her days in Qarth, begging for political support, if she were to wear her Qartheen gown, which Oberyn liked to call her Ambassadorial Gown. 

 "I'm ready, Ser Daario," she said to Daario Naharis, only to find him chuckling and shaking his head even as they linked their arms together. 

 "It's only Daario, princess," he corrected her. "I am merely to commander of the Queen's Second Sons." 

 "The Second Sons?" Sansa repeated. "My husband served under the Second Sons before." 

 "That is strange, how would a Westerosi prince serve under the Second Sons?" Daario asked her in return. "Wait... is your husband Oberyn Martell?"

 Sansa nodded. "The one and only," she replied. "Did you know him?"

 By that time, Daario was roaring in laughter. "Know him? Princess, Prince Oberyn bought my freedom from the fighting pits in this very city. He told me that he liked the way I fought against larger, stockier opponents and filled my master's pockets with golden coins from all over Essos so I would be free. As if it wasn't enough, he even gave my name to the Second Sons. He'd told me not to tell anyone, but, I believe that the Gods might be at work here." 

 Sansa chuckled. "Then this shall be our little secret then," she told Daario Naharis, giving him a wink that she had learned from Ellaria. She was sure that it made him gulp a little. There was little wonder why Oberyn would buy his freedom then. He was an able warrior after Oberyn's own style: a highly mobile fighter that fought lightly, one that valued speed and precision over brute strength. "But why did you choose to tell me this, a stranger that you've barely met?"

 Daario merely shrugged. "I cannot resist a beautiful woman," he told her simply. "I once met an exquisite blond girl in Yunkai and I killed my captains in her name. Now, a beautiful redhead comes to my Queen and I am brought to my knees in awe. I owe your husband what is called a life-debt and now I will fulfill it with you, however I can, since you are here." 

 "A life-debt?" Sansa asked. "But..." 

 "Dear princess, I may sound as if I'm just purely jesting, but I am serious," Daario told her. "I owe your husband my freedom. I was a great fighter in the pits, but every day I stayed there was a gamble. Out in the battlefield, I could make my own odds." 

 "Then can I count you as a friend in this court?" Sansa asked him. 

 "Yes," Daario told her. "You can count me as a friend." 

 She knew that there was a chance that Daario could be lying to her. There was also a chance that he was speaking the truth. She needed to test him, and she knew that it would take time. However, it was good to have a friend in court. While Tyrion was a political hostage, aiming to be the Queen's Hand by the look of things, she needed someone who at least had the Queen's ear. 

 Did Daario Naharis have the Queen's ear though, was another matter altogether. 

* * *

 Dinner with the Queen was a surprisingly delightful affair. There was plenty of fruit and salads, which Sansa seemed to enjoy. Tyrion rather liked the meats. There was chicken, beef and pork abundant and at least, there was conversation to be had on the food. "Princess Sansa, the credentials that Prince Doran sent us are indeed impressive," Ser Jorah said to Sansa. "You were Lady of Sunspear for a year, and the Lady Ambassador from Dorne to Volantis... You went from captive hostage to diplomat within a year." 

 Sansa smiled her most diplomatic smile. "I am thankful that my husband and Prince Doran have given me the opportunity to learn from them," she replied. "Ser Jorah, you are doing very well for yourself as well. A new life in Essos has granted you much fortune." 

 Those words were never meant to scathe. That was not Sansa's act. Sansa's act was much alike that of Margery's, but on a higher profile, Tyrion realized. Sansa's act had everything to do with Littlefinger's. Her act had everything to do with the fact that she was a novice in everything, that she had much to learn, so that others would underestimate her. Her smiles they were well-placed, her big blue eyes widened at the opportune moments. Her time in Dorne had been the greatest push to her political acumen. Tyrion knew that she was a survivor ever since Joffrey ascended the throne and beat her, but now, she was going to be a force to be reckoned with. How she had learned such skills from Littlefinger, he did not know. But her days in Dorne had amplified them, riddled them with the sex appeal that only a Dornishwoman could possess. She was truly a Dornish princess then.  

 Ser Jorah chuckled sardonically at her words. "Forgive me for saying this, princess, but I had the fortune to escape your father's justice, as it would seem to be," he replied. "If not, I would not have had the fortune to have met Her Grace. I entered her service when she was the newly minted Khaleesi of Khal Drogo's khalasar." 

 "That is most wonderful news indeed," Sansa beamed. 

 "Tell me again, dear Sansa," Daenerys said. "How is it that you became a Dornish bride. When I was Drogo's Khaleesi, you were in King's Landing with your father as the King's Hand, weren't you?" 

 "My Queen, two weeks after my brother Robb took Casterly Rock, Prince Doran received an invitation to attend the late King Joffrey's wedding to Lady Margery Tyrell, who has since wedded King Tommen. He sent Oberyn to King's Landing in his stead, as his representative on the Small Council and also to ask for my hand in marriage. I was wedded within the end of the month to Oberyn." 

 Daenerys listened to her tale with great interest. "So your marriage to Prince Oberyn Martell fulfills two goals: one, to placate the Lannisters by moving you far into Dorne so that you are out of reach from the North," she guessed. "The second is to form an alliance between the Starks and the Martells. But... both of these families hate one another, do they not?"

 "Yes, they do," Sansa said truthfully. "My aunt Lyanna dishonored my late sister-in-law, Elia Martell when Prince Rhaegar stole her from her family after the Tourney of Harrenhal. I might be a stupid little girl, but I think that at least by marrying Oberyn, my brother Robb would be less inclined to attack Dorne if he wished and vice versa." 

 Ser Barristan Selmy nodded. "It is a wise political marriage," he noted. "One that would start healing the wounds between the Starks and the Martells. You are very brave to have entered this marriage, despite how young you are, princess." 

 "She's in love," Daenerys said, looking towards Sansa, directly towards her. "I know those eyes. I had those eyes when Drogo was still alive." Amethyst met ice. She knew that she was facing her greatest adversary yet. Sansa knew that once she could overcome this adversary, she would become her greatest ally. "Sansa, you and I were the lucky ones, that political marriages somehow worked for us." 

 Sansa smiled brilliantly. "Yes, we are," she said. "Thanks to Oberyn, I have also come to love another. Ellaria, our wonderful paramour. She taught me  _everything_." 

 "Now things are getting interesting," Daario Naharis interjected. "Princess, are you insinuating that you and your husband have a paramour between the two of you?"

 "I am telling you, Daario Naharis, that my husband and I have a beautiful paramour and she is as fair as the morning sun," Sansa replied, and everyone fell into a roar of laughter. Tyrion knew that like all the other roars of laughter that he heard before, it was a lie. However, Sansa was the most striking jewel of all. She had learned to tell the perfect lie by presenting to them the utmost truth.

 "To your happy marriage then, princess," Ser Jorah offered a toast. "Perhaps when you return to Dorne, may you be blessed with a child when you return." 

 "Oh, thank you so much for your kindness, Ser Jorah," Sansa replied, clinking wine-glass with that of Ser Jorah's. "But Oberyn and I have decided to wait. Ellaria says that I have many child-bearing years before me." 

 For whatever reason, unknown to them, Daenerys agreed. "I was pregnant when I was your age, Sansa," she told her. "I lost the child too and now I might not carry another. You must be very careful about your womb. It is wise to heed your paramour's advice."

 "Your Grace... I didn't mean..." 

 "No, no, Sansa," Daenerys smiled, knowing very well that Sansa had meant no harm to her. "Those days are behind us now. Now, we look to the future." 

* * *

 When dinner had ended, Daenerys had silently motioned for her council to remain at the table after Sansa and Tyrion had left. "Well, gentlemen, what do we think about our new friends?" she asked them, looking into every one of their eyes. "Jorah?"

 "Khaleesi, I would think that Princess Sansa is more than just a messenger," Ser Jorah said. "She may look young and inexperienced, but we must remember that she has Volantis' ear as well as that of her brother and husband." 

 "The bond between the North and Volantis has been severed," Daenerys proclaimed. "I... I saw the Queen in the North dying at childbirth the other day. In that vision, I saw Sansa Stark as well." 

 "Your Grace, you know that I am not a man of superstition, but there  _must_  be a reason that you and Princess Sansa share such a bond," Ser Barristan added. "However, it does not mean that you can drop your guard when it comes to her. Dorne was only forced to fight for your father because he held Princess Elia Martell hostage in King's Landing." 

 Daenerys then looked towards Daario, who had no semblance of Westerosi politics. "She is a beautiful woman," Daario shrugged. "I like beautiful women. I don't know about Ser Jorah or Ser Barristan, but the princess does seem like she comes as a supplicant to you, my Queen. However, there would be no harm in observing her behavior for a while. Besides, if she really represents the wishes of her brother and her husband's family, I don't see why you can't make a new friend too.  I don't see why you can't make a new friend too."

 Missandei nodded. "Your Grace, I believe that perhaps we should make sure that the Princess and Lord Tyrion Lannister are watched at all times, by either among us," she suggested. "That way, we would not seem to be unfriendly as well." 

 "Missandei's suggestion is a good one, Khaleesi," Ser Jorah said. "That way, you can also learn more about our new friends." 

 "Then it is settled," Daenerys said. "We shall do as Missandei suggested. I want them watched constantly. Oh and Daario... try to be subtle if you intent on chasing her skirts." 

 Daario chuckled and nodded. "You know me too well, Your Grace." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter focuses solely on Meeren. This will not be the first and only though, hehehe. 
> 
> Does anyone want to see any action between Daario and Sansa? HMMMM.
> 
> Will Dany continue to keep Tyrion and Sansa at arm's length?
> 
> Enjoy!


	50. The Ambassador at Work

 "A letter from Sansa, Papa," Tyene told Oberyn, giving her father a sealed envelope bearing Sansa's personal seal. It was one that he had made for her, the exact replica of the pendant that he gave her. "She also gave a formal report to Uncle Doran." 

 "Good girl," Oberyn said, and patted Tyene on the head. "Now, let us see what your stepmother has seen and done in Meereen." 

* * *

  _My dear husband and beloved Ellaria,_

_I have arrived safely in Meereen just two days ago. I must say that this place is beautiful as it is menacing. We reside in the Great Pyramid with Her Grace, who styles herself Queen Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of Meereen, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons. She surrounds herself in a council of sorts: Ser Jorah Mormont is her main general, while Ser Barristan Selmy is the Lord Commander of her Queensguard. She is also further supported by Missandei, a lovely girl from Naath who is capable of conversing in 19 tongues, Grey Worm, the commander of the Unsullied as well as Daario Naharis, a Tyroshi sellsword that now heads the Second Sons. Daario says that you freed him from the Meereenese fighting pits and brought him to the Second Sons. Is that true?_

* * *

 "Did you really free a pit fighter before, Papa?" Sarella asked Oberyn, coming up to him as he read Sansa's letter out loud. 

 Oberyn chuckled. "Yes, I did," he told his daughters. "Daario was small but fast in those days. He was so scrawny that no one ever thought that he would win, so I bet on him. I used my winnings to free him and I deposited him with my old sellsword company." 

* * *

  _Daario has prying eyes. I believe that the Queen has allowed him to approach me to spy on me. Perhaps to chase after my skirts so as to know me better. Maybe I should play into her own hand to see what more that she thinks of me. My husband, do I have your permission? Wait... I already do. I will seize the opportunity when I have it, I think. Since you want me to explore the pleasures of the world, I think I just go through with it, if I must._

_I have also taken good company with Tyrion. He is witty and clever and I think that he hopes to see himself as the Queen's Hand sooner or later. It would be a good station for him, I think. But... if he is the Hand, then what should I be? He is not as... violent as the rest of the family is. Somehow, I believe that Tyrion is another chess-piece on the board that will tip the scales. He seems to know something, or see something. He hasn't told me about anything yet, but I trust in my instincts._

_Oberyn. How do you traverse through politics as though you know everything? How does Lord Baelish do it? Do you have a depository of information that you keep with you at all times? How do you act according to each possibility? I'm just a stupid little girl and I can only act according to how others would act. If only I was like Lord Varys with little birds all around me..._

_I eagerly await your reply,_

_Your loving wife, Sansa S.M._

* * *

 Once again, Sansa had proved that she was not only wiser beyond her years, but was an able maneuverer worthy of many snakes in King's Landing. She had an intuition that was even greater than what Greensight can give her and she knew how to use it. Oberyn read and reread the letter over and over again, until he heard her voice in his head. Tyene and Sarella had left and he sat in his chair. His young wife was in a foreign land, accomplishing all that she has set out to do. Did he miss her? Of course he did. He would fight, fight until his very last breath right up till the moment where he would meet her again, probably astride a dragon. 

 "How I wish I could see her in Meereen, with that cold, courtly face she wears, staring down the Targaryen girl," he told Doran, when he was summoned into his brother's office. "Imagine the tension between them." 

 "Your wife puts immense pressure on herself," Doran told Oberyn. "She's only been in Meereen for three days and she gives me... this..." Doran gestured towards the small pile of letters that Sansa had written. Among them were sketches of the city of Meereen as she could see from the Great Pyramid and then Great Pyramid itself. There were profiles of each of Daenerys' advisors, what they have done, who they were and what she thought of them. 

 Oberyn sighed. "My wife loves you more than I," he said. "Look at what I've got." His letter was only a page-long. 

 "Sansa knows her duties well," Doran said. "I praise the Gods that we got to her first. Imagine if Littlefinger's plan to bring her to the Vale succeeded... We would have suffered many terrible defeats, dear brother. Now, she is safe in Meereen and we won't have to rely on others for information. Please, tell your wife that she is in Meereen also for her safety. Nothing good would come of it if she overworks herself." 

 "I will remind her about it," Oberyn nodded in agreement. 

 "You must be very proud of her," Doran added. 

 "I am," he replied. "Perhaps Robb Stark is too, and her father, if he is watching her from wherever men like him go after death." 

* * *

 Daenerys was walking with Missandei in the courtyard when they heard the sound of clashing steel. The Unsullied never practiced in the courtyard while Daario hardly sparred with Ser Jorah or Ser Barristan. However, all three of them were there, including Tyrion and Grey Worm. Grey Worm seemed to be sparring with what seemed to be Sansa, dressed in strange leather armor. She also bore what seemed to be a long dagger with a bejeweled hilt. 

 She was impressive to say the least. Ser Barristan was yelling at her, teaching her how to move while Jorah cheered her on. "Your princess is an interesting thing," Daario said to Daenerys. "She's not only a diplomat, but she wields the dagger quite well." 

 Sansa held her dagger with a backwards grip, the jewels on the hilt glittering in the sun. She was quick. Her blue eyes were clear like the sky and she looked at Grey Worm with more than just the blank expression that she wore when she first met them. It was the look of determination. 

 "I thought ladies in Westeros never learned to fight?" Daenerys asked Ser Jorah. 

 "The women of my House fights," Ser Jorah answered. "However, they are a rarity. Princess Sansa here was taught to use a dagger by her husband, Prince Oberyn Martell. That is why she fights in the Dornish style." 

 "What is the Dornish style?"

 "The Dornish value speed, accuracy and agility, Your Grace," Tyrion explained. "They ride fast horses and wear leather armor. Man and woman have equal standing in Dorne, and so it is with their warriors." 

 "But we are not sending Sansa to the front yet," Daenerys said, sensing Ser Jorah's misgivings about her skill thus far.

 "No, Khaleesi," came the reply from Ser Jorah. "But we can depend on her to defend herself if needs be. That is already a great boon."

 The spar ended when Grey Worm was able to point his spear directly at Sansa's throat. They shook hands and he said in halting, accented Common Tongue, "You are a fighter not bad, Princess Sansa." 

 "Thank you," Sansa replied with a smile despite the errors in his grammar. She would have done the same in butchering High Valyrian if she even tried to do s. "I know that I'll need a lot more practice if I am going really to see any real action." 

 "Dagger is good to protect self from harm," Grey Worm said. "Your teacher must be powerful warrior." 

 "Her teacher is Oberyn Martell, one of the greatest warriors in all of Westeros," Daario told Grey Worm. "He is known as the Red Viper because he poisons the tip of his spear." 

 Ser Barristan frowned at such a description. "Those are merely rumors, Daario," he said. "I do not think it is wise to speak of the prince in this manner when the princess is here." 

 "It's alright, Ser Barristan," Sansa said. "It's true anyways. Oberyn _did_  poison his spear before he fought the Mountain back in King's Landing. The same goes with my third stepdaughter, Tyene Sand. Her daggers are laced with a specific toxin from Asshai that kills within minutes." She saw Missandei's eye widening, but she immediately started to stammer. "Lady Missandei... I didn't mean... I don't..." 

 At those words, Missandei smiled and reassured her no harm was done. "You need not worry, Princess Sansa," she added. 

 "The Mountain was the one that killed Elia and her children, wasn't he?" Daenerys asked Sansa, to which she nodded. "Was it a fearsome battle then?"

 "It was," Sansa admitted. "I thought I was never going to see Oberyn again... The Mountain was at least one and a half times larger than him and his sword was almost as tall... But, in the end, they are all avenged and Tyrion's name was cleared, and it is all that matters." 

 "Oh yes, you were accused of killing King Joffrey, weren't you, Lord Tyrion?" Daenerys remembered. 

 "Yes, Your Grace," Tyrion said. "I seem to have the strange luck of being tried for crimes that I've never committed and escaping them with trials by combat. I am either cursed or I have the best of luck." 

 "You were lucky because I seduced Oberyn the night before," Sansa said. "I made sure that he wouldn't lose his calm while fighting The Mountain." If she had been back in Winterfell, even saying those words would have earned great gasps and hushed any hint of conversation, but luckily for her, they were not. 

 Daario laughed out loud while Ser Barristan shook his head in mirth. "That is how every man is ruled by their women," he said.

 "What is 'trial by combat'? Grey Worm asked. 

 "Come, Grey Worm, I'll tell you all about it," Tyrion offered. "It started when I was minding my way down the Kingsroad when..." 

 "Who would imagine that a Stark and a Lannister would be such great friends?" Daenerys asked Sansa. "You and Lord Tyrion seem to have a good rapport if I don't say so myself." 

 "Your Grace, I am the Stark who married a Martell," Sansa said. "I would think that I am the anomaly in my family." 

 Daenerys put a hand on Sansa's shoulder. "That may be, but you have travelled further than any other Stark have. That itself is a tale worth telling. I have considered, and I will meet with you and Tyrion to discuss politics and other plans tomorrow. For now, just enjoy what Meereen has to offer you. Have Daario accompany you if you wish." 

 "I would like that very much," Sansa replied, nodding to Daario in acknowledgment. "Thank you, Your Grace." 

* * *

 "And this... is the Great Pit of Draznak," Daario said to Sansa, bringing her to the large circular building not a great distance away from the Great Pyramid. "You will only know that you've truly made it in life as a fighter when you have fought here." 

 Sansa reached her hand out to touch the outer structure of the pit. She could feel the horrors and the anguish suffered in the pit. As long as her hand was on the stones of the pit, she heard men and beasts screaming their death-throes. "Much pain was suffered here," she commented, her expression almost unreadable to Daario. "However, there is also much joy, as though... it is derived from the suffering..." 

 "You can feel all of that just by touching the stones?" Daario asked her. 

 "More or less," she replied. "Did Her Grace tell any of you about anything that she has seen herself?"

 Daario hesitated. He looked to her as if he did not know whether to divulge any information to her. Seconds later, he set his his jaw and sighed. Running his fingers through his hair, he sighed. "When we were moving out from Yunkai, I saw one of her dragons belch out a ball of fire. Everyone who saw that ball of fire saw your likeness in it. It scared the Queen so much that she didn't talk for hours," he said. "Ser Barristan thinks that there is some sort of... bond between the two of you." 

 "Still, I've yet to earn Her Grace's trust," Sansa said, knowing that the situation around her. 

 "Don't worry about that," Daario told her. "I don't either." 

 "You want her, don't you?" she asked him, looking into his green eyes with her large blue ones. "And you can't have her until you have something about me." 

 With those words, he snaked an arm around Sansa's waist. "So, what do you think, princess?" he asked her. "We have a job to do, don't we?"

 It was exhilarating, being backed into the outer walls of Draznak's Pit in full view of the public, in the arms of the man that she had barely met. There was a very least a spark of attraction between them, and she knew that her heart was already starting to race. It was the proximity between them, she thought. If there was one thing that she had learned, it would be to judge a person's current mood by looking at their eyes. Even when her husband was a highly sexual being, even if Oberyn was capable of having moments of dark rage, she felt as though he actually had eyes that were rather soulful and melancholy, which matched him perfectly. Daario, in comparison was harder to read. He had a playful glint in his eye but there was nothing more. He was actually a puzzle to her, which made so much sense as to why Daenerys did not trust him as of yet. 

 "We should get back to the Great Pyramid first," she reminded him. "If the Queen ordered you to come after me, then perhaps we should at least be seen or heard doing it." 

 "An astute suggestion, princess Sansa," Daario replied and offered his arm to her. "Wait... wouldn't your husband mind?"

 Sansa chuckled and shook her head. "When we stopped over at Lys, he brought me to the Red Lotus and bought three prostitutes: two girls and a boy. He purchased their services and would have had me joined them if I hadn't told him that I only wanted to watch," she recounted. 

 "So, you have never been with anyone else other than your husband and paramour?" Daario asked just after they entered the Great Pyramid. 

 "No," Sansa answered. 

 "Then we'll need to fetch lots of wine, and you'll need to come to my rooms," Daario said. "What? You can get a lot of sun at my balcony." 

 Twenty minutes later, they were both lounging on low, wooden chaises on Daario's balcony, sipping wine and some kind of fruit brandy. "This is really good," Sansa said after taking a sip of the brandy. She had never been one to drink alcohol, but ever since she had started doing so after she had found Oberyn and Ellaria, she had never looked back. 

 "It is a mix of oranges, lemons and sweet limes," Daario told her. "Yes, the chief exports of Dorne can be found in Meereen. Do you like it?" Sansa could almost feel her cheeks burn up. Was there any possibility that he had found out that she had a weakness for citrus fruits? Was she so easily read by others? "Did I say anything wrong?"

 Sansa shook her head. "Oh, no," she said. "I was just... surprised," she added. 

 "That's a ltitle strange, coming from you," Daario continued. "Any fool can tell you that Dorne is where you get the best of these fruits, and you're a Dornish princess... But that is not why you are surprised, isn't it?" At that moment, he knew that there could be something more behind that facade that she had maintained. "You had not known even the simplest of kindnesses before you met your husband, haven't you?"

 There was a deep sigh from Sansa and at the end, she relented. "I was a political prisoner in King's Landing, the capital of Westeros. My father was executed for false charges of treason and I was kept alive to that my brother wouldn't dare do anything that would disrupt the peace. When he won victories against the crown, I was beaten by the King," she admitted, her expression turning into her cold, courtly one. "Then for whatever reason, my husband reached out to my brother to join in an alliance to fight against the crown. The first condition was that he would marry me and the second was that we would join hands with the Queen when she reaches Westeros." 

 She stood and walked towards Daario, parted the top of her gown and turned her back towards him. He must have looked at her scars for a long time because it felt as though an eternity had passed until he had leaned his head against her back. "The King that did this to you is cruel beyond measure," he said. "I heard from Jorah that Khal Drogo melted a pot of gold over the head of Her Grace's brother, just because he pointed a sword at her. Even a slave here would not be beaten thus without just cause." 

 "It doesn't matter any more," Sansa returned. "King Joffrey is dead and my father is avenged. All that matters now is that the Queen and her dragons move to Westeros so we can destroy our enemies together." 

 "Then you are in luck," he replied, kissing the back of her neck. "Her Grace has decided that she would end all slavery in Essos before she sails home. I wish you luck in convincing her in doing otherwise." 

 "That's why I need you to help me," Sansa said, turning towards him, completely removing her gown the moment their eyes met. There was determination in her eyes, a cold light that was sharp as a blade. At that point in time, Daario realized that the Westerosi propensity to reduce everything into dualities was made clear to him. Sansa was the very personification of Ice. She waited and baited. She presented challenges to those around her, beckoning them to accept them like a blizzard that hid the prospects of shelter. On the other hand, Daenerys was Fire. She burned and destroyed until there was nothing in her path. 

 Both women were equally dangerous. Both women equally beautiful and young. Power ran in their veins and Daario wondered if he was a fool to even dare court either one, let alone both. Since Sansa was there and she was willing, he would take the chance of bringing her to his bed. He just hoped that she would not slit his throat with that beautiful jeweled dagger of hers after. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am a tease. I know that. But I've gotta say, both Sansa and Daario know that whatever they're doing is so that they can advance in their plans. Dany wants Daario to test Sansa and Sansa lets them have their way. Is Daario really interested in Sansa? Nope not really, it's just sex because hey, why not and because his boss asked him to. ^_^
> 
> How do you like what I've done with the Meereen crew though? I'm so sorry that I left our dear Torgo Nudho out in the previous chapter. I KNEW I was forgetting something. 
> 
> By the way, can I please direct you to this photo? https://www.facebook.com/WinterfellDirewolves/photos/a.515731998443607.129985.420747717942036/1097628810253920/?type=1 It's just PERFECT for the fic, no?
> 
> Enjoy!


	51. Conquests of the Heart

 Daario was right when he said that it would be her first time having intimate relations with another person other than Oberyn and Ellaria and frankly, she could start to understand why they liked having others. Although the act of love was more or less the same, but there was a lot to be said about how Daario had differed from them both. Daario was a conquerer, so to speak. He was dominant, but did not expect her to be completely submissive either. They were a good match, but at the same time, he was Daario Naharis and not her Dornish prince. Daario's kisses were heated, erotic, but held no promise nor sweetness as Ellaria's did. 

 "I don't match up to your loved ones, don't I?" Daario asked her, nuzzling her forehead as she sat on the edge of the bed, drinking the Meereenese equivalent of Moon Tea. She was undoubtedly beautiful, tragically so even. The way that she had touched him in response to his ministrations had told him volumes. 

 "Please," Sansa rolled her eyes although she did not imagine that she was capable of doing so to anyone other than Oberyn. "You were wonderful." 

 "But, it was all just business, wasn't it?" he replied, giving her a small kiss. 

 "You want the Queen, not a princess," Sansa replied. "I'm just a homely Northern girl at the end, you wouldn't want anyone like that." 

 Daario chuckled and wound his arms around her waist. There was a strange comfort for her when he did that, although she did not know why. "You speak with such belittling humility, princess, but everyone else knows what a true force you are," he said. "Why not tear down your act and be the strength that you hold?"

 In all her years, she had never heard such words before. To Oberyn's eyes, she was magnificence to behold, a concealed weapon to be wielded in the most opportune moment. It was because this was his nature. He and Doran had worked to undermine their enemies over a span of twenty years. Yes, he was a man of fierce temperament, but among many of such nature, he was also capable of long-wearing patience if he was coaxed to. With poison as his greatest talent, he worked in the shadows. He was fascinated with her because he could see the strength that she had held hidden behind her sorry state and her enchanted words that kept those around her fooled about her true nature. Those around her kept her strengths hidden for her safety, for her protection. 

 "What do you mean?" she asked him, blue eyes directly looking towards him, brows furrowed in an almost stern expression. 

 "I mean that you should put off all the pretenses that you are a delicate flower and show the world what you truly are," Daario said, now pressing a kiss on her shoulder and played with the pendant that rested on her collarbones. "Like this... direwolf that your family takes as its symbol." He had seen her direwolf before, and he swore that he had never seen a wolf so large in his life. There was a quiet fury that lied behind the beast's demeanor, one that was waiting to be stoked and released. It seemed to him as though Sansa had the same qualities. 

 "I think your words are better heard by the Queen," Sansa replied, kissing him softly on the lips. "Although I thank you for them. No one's ever said them to me before." 

 Daario returned and gesture and said, "I meant every word, princess. You Westerosi are a strange lot. You gather so much strength yet conceal it when it is a hard fact that others can already see. What use is there in hiding? You can only use the element of surprise once. Are you Westerosi so dumb that you are caught like bolting sheep at every turn?"

 "No, but we have different surprises at every turn," Sansa replied with a chuckle. What he said was true. Not only she was like that, but all of Westeros were. Margery played the act of a caring noble to win the heart of the smallfolk, the Dornishmen played the act of passionate rogues uncaring for the troubles of the Seven Kingdoms when they have practically monopolized the trade of salt and exotic goods from Essos while her brother played the act of the young greenhorn challenging the likes of Tywin Lannister in politics and governance. "You can't let everyone else know what kinds of cards you have in your hand, or they'll just play to your weaknesses and strip you of your advantage." 

 "In my books, the best defense is the best offense," Daario grimaced, now inhaling the scent of her hair. "Strength and valour cannot be hidden, and once others have seen them, they will cower and submit if they cannot overcome such a force." 

 "Like the Targaryens and their dragons," Sansa surmised. "Aegon Targaryen emerged from Dragonstone with his three dragons and brought Westeros into a chaos of fire and blood and reigned for three hundred years." 

 "One single show of power and they had everything for three hundred years," Daario added in earnest. "Wouldn't that be an easier job?"

 "It would be easier," she said. "But no one is as lucky as you have been, Daario. I had to go through... a lot to come to where I am now and I didn't just have everything I have now." Despite what she had said, she knew that if luck was a factor, then she was also impossibly lucky. She dared not imagine what could have happened if Robb had marched to the Twins before taking Casterly Rock, if Oberyn had not approached him. If she was not a Greenseer and a Warg, could she have been so greatly valued by Doran and Robb? Could Oberyn even love her as much as he did now? 

 In the end, Daario held his peace. He had said what he wanted to say and she heard his words loud and clear. "It is your call to make, princess, not mine," he concluded. "But, you know what? We make good bedfellows do we not?"

 Sansa smiled to that. "Yes, we do," she said. As far as men came, Daario was a very desirable specimen. She knew that if Oberyn had seen him, he would have wanted him for himself if Daario was willing. "Why? Would you like to... fill the void in my lovers' absence?" She could feel her cheeks grow hotter as she said those words, a challenge posed to Daario. His eyes bore into hers and she kicked herself mentally for being so forward despite there was a chance that he might reject her. 

 "My dear princess, you must know something about me," Daario said, hooking his chin to the plane of her shoulder. "I only have two interests: war and women. How can I ever refuse a beautiful woman like you?"

 "Even if you're really after the Queen?" 

 "I will be there if you require my assistance in any way." So there it was. A pact between her and Daario Naharis was born. A purely physical one at that. "Besides, the Queen will have to marry someone one day. I'm just a mercenary whose mother was a whore. I might venture into a Queen's bed and she may or may not allow me into it..." 

 "So you will settle for a princess for the time being?"

 Daario chuckled and kissed Sansa again. "I will help a princess when she misses her beloved family too much," he corrected her. "Especially since she is so skilled in bedsport." 

* * *

 "Can you imagine Jon climbed all the way up here from way down there?" Theon asked Obara as they were following Robb as he patrolled the ramparts of Queensgate. In his absence, the armies of the North repaired the abandoned castle as best as they could and they now had some semblance of a worthy defense. However, they still had to rely on Castle Black for some of the technological advances that were installed in the main stronghold of the Night's Watch that could not be found anywhere else. Robb had a great many arguments with Ser Alliser (with or without Jon's help) and they finally copied the plans to build another scythe for their section of the Wall and in great speed. 

 "Are the two of you listening?" Robb asked Obara and Theon, turning towards them with an exasperated expression on his face. 

 "You said something, Your Grace?" Obara asked while punching Theon in the arm for diverting her attention. 

 "I was just wondering if we should build schools for all the children after the war ends," Robb continued. "We don't only need so many fighters. We need engineers and scholars. How else are we going to maintain and create weapons like the scythe or even to learn how to maintain structures like this Wall?"

 Theon burst out in laughter while Obara just raised her eyebrows. "If all the children went to school and became scholars, who would do the other work when they grow up and finish studying?" he asked Robb. 

 "They could study whatever they wanted to and find any work they want to, perhaps," Robb mused. "Maybe it would take away the hold that the Citadel has on knowledge and wisdom." 

 "My sister, Sarella is still very keen on becoming a maester," Obara recounted. "She even infiltrated the Citadel under a false name and everything, but Uncle Doran asked her to go home to help Father out." 

 Thus, Robb looked pointedly at Theon. "Robb, come on, we're at war here and you're talking about children's education? If you don't win the war, there might not be children to educate at all." 

 Sighing, Robb rubbed his temples. "Your Grace, you can go on making the world a better place once the war is over," Obara offered in the end. At times, the King in the North was a strange person. He only thought of the good things in life, as if their time at Casterly Rock was not proof enough. Yet, when forced to, he could be capable of great and terrible things, like how he had quashed the rebellious Boltons with the help of his bannermen. Robb should not have lived in their time, she mused. He was meant for a brighter future and she hoped that he could survive long enough to see such a future come true. 

 "Aye, you're right, Obara," Robb said and turned back towards the vast wilderness outside the Wall until they were joined by the Blackfish. "Uncle Brynden, what news from Castle Black?"

 The Blackfish shrugged. "Everything is quiet as a mouse," he said. "Oh, Jon says that we probably should flood any culverts, drains or caverns and let the water freeze them solid to prevent any wildlings from coming in." 

 "It is already done, Ser Brynden," Obara said. 

 "Well, Ser Alliser refused to let Jon do it," the Blackfish continued. "He's a stubborn git, that one. Has plenty of bite towards those who are not of his mind and never listens to others." 

 "Alas we cannot seek to influence him," Robb said, "not that we can, anyways. We've been waiting here for more than a week. I fear that the wildlings are coming soon." He could not explain it, but he felt that something was coming towards them. There was a large gust of energy that he could not name coming in from the North, and he was sure that it was the wildling army. It wasn't even him, even Grey Wind was on an edge. They were coming and they were coming soon. 

 "They will come soon," Robb replied. "I can feel it. When that time comes, you are to hold this castle, Uncle Brynden. Don't let any of the wildlings through. How many men do you need?"

 The Blackfish was silent for a moment, roughly calculating the stakes and numbers but abandoning the deed altogether. "You're heading for Castle Black, aren't you?" he asked Robb. "Is it wise for the King in the North to abandon his position?"

 Robb shook his head. "I'm not abandoning my position, and I am lending our support to the Night's Watch," he said. "The wildlings don't know that this castle is manned and they won't attack it. Castle Black will be attacked from north and south. I can't leave the Night's Watch to be slaughtered there. Whatever it is, I will take a thousand men first. If we need more, Theon will come and ask for reinforcements." 

 "You had this planned all along, haven't you?" Theon asked him. 

 There was no answer from Robb, who still continued to look directly towards the Blackfish. "If the Watch falls, so will the rest of Westeros. There won't be Seven Kingdoms left for us to fight over," Robb continued. 

 "Go, then," the Blackfish said and turned towards Obara. "Captain Sand, you're never to leave His Grace's side or it is your snake-hide I'm going after. Am I clear?"

 "Perfectly, Ser Brynden," Obara agreed. 

* * *

 

 "I... is your brother alright?" Sam asked Jon. After Robb had left to see to the defenses of Queensguard, the two of them were immediately sent onto the top of the Wall to act as watchers. It was Ser Alliser's way of dealing the bitterness he had for the Stark brothers and neither of them blamed him for it. 

 "He's just lost his wife, how could he be alright?" Jon replied. "His son, baby Eddie, will grow up without knowing who his mother was and Volantis... it'll be in mourning too." 

 "Yeah, Volantis, even," Sam repeated. "How did your brother meet his wife though?"

 Jon raised an eyebrow. "Robb said it was at the Battle of Oxcross, some time after they caught Jaime Lannister. He helped her to saw the foot off a Lannister soldier." 

 Sam did not believe it. "That wasn't very romantic, was it?" he asked. "Sawing a soldier's foot off?"

 "Queen Talisa was a healer, Sam," Jon explained. "She was Robb's first..."

 "Was she?" Sam almost jumped on Robb. "I mean... King Robb's the King in the North, he certainly could've had anyone he wanted, couldn't he?" Jon only shrugged. "Well, what about you? What was she like?"

 Taking a deep breath, Jon knew that this moment would come ever since he got back to Castle Black. "She had red hair," he said. Ygritte's hair was even brighter than Sansa's or Lady Catelyn's. 

 "Oh? How big were her feet?" 

 Jon could not find it in him to answer. He had not needed to remember anything about Ygritte until then and he only just realize how much it hurt not being able to be with the one he loved. That was why he could sympathize with Robb. "What do you want me to say?" he asked Sam when it seemed like what he had just said was not enough. 

 "I want you to tell me what it's like to have someone... to be with someone," Sam answered. "To love someone and have them love you back. You're the closest thing I'll ever get to knowing." 

 Jon looked at Sam in earnest disbelief. "So you and Gilly never..." 

 "No," Sam answered with a small whimper. "She just had a baby... and she never offered." 

 They were interrupted by a familiar voice. "Offer what?" the voice asked, and when the figure came into view, Robb revealed himself, with Grey Wind a few feet behind him. 

 "What are you doing here?" Jon demanded. "You're not supposed to be here." 

 "I am King and I go wherever I want to go," Robb answered. "Tell me, are you really going to expect that I'd let the hundred of you defend Castle Black all by yourselves? You know me better than that, Jon." 

 "Your Grace, Ser Alliser won't care that you're helping us though," Sam offered. "I mean... he doesn't..." 

 Robb nodded and put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "I know, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't need the help," he said. "Now, the two of you were talking about girls, yes?"

 "Well, yes, but..." 

 "Go on then," Robb encouraged. "What about them?"

 Jon rolled his eyes but continued anyways. "So if Gilly did offer you, you would've... you would've broken your vows?"

 That was the point when Sam's face lit up. "The interesting thing is, our vows never specifically forbid intimate relations with women," he said, watching as the Stark brothers look at him in utter disbelief. "'I shall take no wife', yes, that's in there, there's no denying that. 'I shall father no children', that's very specific. But what do our vows have to say about other... activities is open to interpretation." 

 Robb broke into a small chuckle and gave Sam a good nudge while Jon grimaced. "I don't think Ser Alliser cares much about interpretation," he told Sam. 

 "Anyway, there's nothing for him to interpret," Sam continued with a low, defeated tone. "We didn't... so what's it like?" 

 "Yes, Jon, what's it like?" Robb added, obviously egging Jon on. 

 Jon looked as though he was going to punch Robb's teeth in if he wasn't the King in the North. "It's..." there was first a pause. "There's this person, this whole other person, and you're wrapped up in them and they're wrapped up in you and you... for a little while... you're more than just you." He looked towards Robb for help but Robb didn't even move an inch. "I don't know... I'm not a bleeding poet." 

 "No, you're really not," Sam observed. 

 "What did I get for it? An arrow six inches from my heart."

 "Oh, come on, it's not so bad," Robb comforted Jon. "Sure, Talisa's gone, but it's the memories that count. Who knows? Jon, you may get to see your wildling girl again and Sam, you'd get along well with Gilly." Gilly had been sent to Mole's Town which was kept under heavy watch by the northern armies and for everyone's sake, they hoped that the defenses there would hold. 

 "Go and get some sleep, Sam," Jon said, "I'll take this watch." Once Sam had went down on the lift, he turned to Robb. "You shouldn't encourage him." 

 "You shouldn't doubt him," Robb returned. "Everyone deserves a shot at love. Look at where it brought Sansa and I? She's now in Meereen as the Lady Ambassador, seeing things that all of us can only dream of and I now have a son." 

 "But your..." 

 "I'm alright, Jon," Robb told his brother. "Arya didn't believe me, but I guessed that you would. Even if you're right, now is not the time for me to mourn those that have already passed. Things are very different when you are a king. You can't show anyone that you are weak, not because they'll turn their backs at you, because they look up to you. They'll be expecting you to lead them and you have to, because you're their king. Remember what Father used to say? A lord is the father to his people and a king is the father to his country. I miss Talisa, and I've mourned for her and now, it's time to lay her to rest. For the North's sake if not for mine." 

 Jon gave Robb a big hug. "The North couldn't have had a better king then," he said. 

 "Would your girl be out here fighting?" Robb asked. 

 "She could be," Jon answered. "She'll kill me for sure the next time she sees me." 

 "Isn't that the most frightening thing in the world?" Robb asked. "The prospect of your lady love angry at you. It's even worse than facing a whole horde of wildlings." 

 "Did you ever make your wife angry?"

 Robb nodded and chuckled mere seconds after. "It's always the smallest things, like how I made the bed wrong and how hopeless I was in High Valyrian," he answered with a smile. "It made us look... normal. Like we didn't have a care in the world. Ask Sansa and she'd have some thing that Oberyn does and she doesn't like." 

 "Ygritte always said that I knew nothing," Jon sighed. "It's as if there's so many things in this world that she knows." 

 "The wildlings live different lives than we do," Robb replied. "Whenever a woman argues, always give her the right of way. It'll save you more headaches in the long run." 

 "Aye," Jon nodded. "I couldn't agree more." 

 There, on the top of the Wall, the Stark brothers stood shoulder to shoulder, talking about their lady loves. Little did they know that the greatest fight for their lives were coming sooner than they had expected. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a pretty adorable calm before the storm no? What did you like more, that little bit of Daario/Sansa or the bromantic moment between Sam, Robb and Jon?
> 
> The fight for Castle Black will come up next so stay tuned!
> 
> This chapter's pop culture reference comes from X-Men: the Last Stand and LOTR: Return of the King.
> 
> Enjoy!


	52. The Battle of Castle Black

 The first thing that came was the fire, so large that the entire horizon seemed to be set ablaze. Obara was the first to ready her spear while the Black Brothers went on with the last legs of the preparation. In the background the horn was being constantly blown. Two blasts for wildlings. 

 "Robb, where shall we position ourselves?" Theon asked Robb, who for all of a sudden looked as lost as the rest of the Night's Watch did. He was standing all over the place, unintentionally blocking their path as they went along their jobs. 

 "We will guard the southern entrance," Robb said after what seemed like much deliberation. "Jon said that there are a party of wildlings that have successfully climbed the Wall. Surely, they would be coming from the south to open any gates. "The two of you go down first and rally our men. I will join you shortly." 

 Both Obara and Theon nodded. "We'll see you down there then, Your Grace," Obara said and quickly made for the shaft. 

 Robb walked towards where he had spotted Jon and Ser Alliser. "Your Grace," Ser Alliser greeted him while he gave Jon a firm hug. "Have you seen anything like this?"

 "No," Robb answered. "No one in the Seven Kingdoms have ever seen such a thing. You'd have to hand it to Mance Rayder, to be able to bring them all under one single cause." 

 Ser Alliser grimaced and then set his jaw. "A hundred thousand, you say?" he asked Jon. 

 "Yes, Ser," came Jon's reply. 

 "You can say it if you like. We should have sealed the tunnel while we had the chance, like you suggested." 

 "It was a difficult decision either way, Ser." 

 "Do you know what leadership means, Prince Snow?" Ser Alliser asked Jon, his eyes darting towards Robb for a split second, implying that this was what Robb knew as well. "It means that the person in charge gets second-guessed by every clever little twat with a mouth. But if he starts second-guessing himself, that's the end... for him, for the clever little twats, for everyone." 

 At that moment, Robb understand that no matter how nasty a person Ser Alliser was, he was still a capable leader. He had the mettle for the job although he had non of the charisma. He had his own form of leadership and it had been effective thus far, despite various hiccups and they had survived until then. Perhaps, they could survive through the night. 

 "This is not the end," Ser Alliser continued. "Not for us. Not if you lot do your duty for however long it takes to beat them back. And then you get to go on hating me and I get to go on wishing your wildling whore had finished the job." 

 Jon nodded solemnly while Robb placed a hand on Ser Alliser's shoulder. "I will lead my men from below," he told Ser Alliser. "It is an honor to fight by your side." 

 To Jon's surprise, Ser Alliser repeated the gesture. "Your Grace, it is our honor as well," he said. "No fucking King, no matter what lands or titles they claim has ever aided the Night's Watch for thousands of years. You've got the right balls to be the first one and I have to commend that." 

 Robb smiled. "Don't mention it, Ser Alliser," he said and clasped arms with the acting Lord Commander and hugged Jon one last time before he made his descent to the ground. 

 "Your brother loves you," Ser Alliser commented. "He's just as much as a green little pansy as you are, but..." 

 "I know, Ser," Jon cut him off as they saw the wildlings emerging one by one from the trees. There were giants with them, one of them astride a great mammoth. They were shouting and cursing, and they wanted blood. "I know..."

* * *

 

 There were cheers for Robb when he descended the shaft. Cheers from his own men. However, those cheers were quickly silenced when two blasts from the southern gate could be heard. Jon's predictions had come true indeed. 

 "I see in your heart the same fear that would take the heart of me," Robb told them, walking through their ranks, acknowledging every single one of his 1500 soldiers there as well as the Black Brothers that were on the ground with them. "A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship but it is not this day. You may be soldiers of the North, or you may be part of the Night's Watch, it doesn't matter. By all that you hold dear on this good earth we call 'Westeros', I bid you 'Stand, my Brothers!'" 

 He raised his sword and roared those last words, and everyone cheered after him, but stopped short when Ser Alliser came up next to Robb. "I just praised you in front of Snow, don't let me regret those words, Your Grace," Ser Alliser told Robb through clenched teeth. He then turned towards the joined ranks of Crows and Northmen. "Brothers! A hundred generations have defended this castle, she's never fallen before, she will not fall tonight. Those are Thenns at our walls. They eat the flesh of the men they kill. Do you want to fill the belly of a Thenn tonight?" 

 Robb was so impressed with Ser Alliser's speech that he clapped hard while the men cheered and roared. "Good choice of words there." 

 "Fear inspires men," Ser Alliser said. "Not touches of melodrama. You still have a lot to learn, Your Grace." He turned towards them once more. "Tonight we fight! And when the sun rises, I promise you, Castle Black will stand! The Night's Watch will still stand!" 

 By then the wildlings had already cut through the southern gates and were pouring in. There were 1500 of them and probably a few hundred wildlings from the south. It would not be a difficult challenge. 

 Within minutes they were all engaged in battle. It was a frenzy. Blood splattered in the snow, men pitted against men. There was nothing like it. When Robb fought in the Westerlands and the Riverlands, it was army against army. There were commands, drumbeats and there were conventions that had to be followed. There on the Wall, it was a free-for-all. It was man against man. The wildlings had no discipline and they seemed to be hell-bent on taking over Castle Black. For what reason, Robb could not fathom, but he could see it in their eyes. They had made it their sole purpose to conquer the Wall. 

 "Come on!" he shouted towards those around him and rallied them for another charge towards the wildlings. Just a few feet away from him was Grey Wind, who was mowing through the wildlings one by one while Obara stood close to the direwolf, wielding her spear with great prowess that Robb knew few could rival. There was a chance that they could win this fight, if only they could keep their momentum. 

 There, the joined forces of the Night's Watch and the Northern Army fought. They fought together in Castle Black, honoring a tradition that had been formed thousands of years ago. There, they were one. It was what Robb had hoped it all to see in the future. Black and grey against all those that tried to stand them down, just like in the times when the Kings of Winter still ruled. 

 "Robb!" Jon called out towards him while he decapitated a wildling with long hair. "A giant is breaking through the outer gate. I sent some men to defend the inner gate, but I'll need the help of some of your men." 

 "Theon!" Robb shouted towards Theon. "Take thirty and get them to the inner gate to support the Crows, move!" Theon nodded and followed Robb's orders immediately, raising Robb's personal banner and gathering those that saw it to him. "What else do you need?"

 Jon shook his head, but before he could say a word further, a Thenn came in between them. It was Robb's first time looking at one. He was tall and built large, bald with patterned scars all over his skin. This one was carrying a strangely-shaped axe and swung it towards Jon. Robb rushed to help Jon, but was soon engaged by another Thenn. 

 The two brothers fought on, exchanging blows with the Thenns and for one moment, Jon seemed to have the lower hand against his opponent. The Thenn succeeded in knocking Longclaw out of his hands, but he soon struck back by returning the favor by knocking the Thenn's axe with an iron chain he found on the ground. At some point, they had reached the blacksmith's forge, where the Thenn smashed Jon's face onto the anvil and tossed him into the forged. 

 Luckily for Jon, he managed to roll off onto the other side just in time for the Thenn to pick him up and start holding him in a vice-like grip. Knowing that there was no way he could overpower the Thenn, Jon spit blood into the Thenn's face and spied a hammer within arm's reach. Without any hesitation, he crashed the hammer through the Thenn's skull only to see an arrow narrowly miss him. 

 It was Ygritte. For whatever reason, Jon broke into a smile of relief. He was glad to see her there. He had feared that she had been killed. But she was there, alive, and just as beautiful as she had been when he left her. She was aiming an arrow at him, but he did not move an inch. He could not have moved at all. 

Just before she could shoot him, she was shot. It was the greatest irony that he had ever known. "Jon Snow..." she whimpered when he caught her in his arms despite the chaos around them. 

 "Hush, don't talk," he chided her. 

 "Do you remember the cave?" she asked him. "We should have stayed in the cave." 

 "We'll go back there," he reassured her. 

 "You know nothing, Jon Snow." 

 "Jon, don't just stand there!" someone was calling him and pulled him up. He did not know if Ygritte closed her eyes or not. He was looking right at her for one second, and in the other, he was back into the fight after Obara threw Longclaw back to him.

* * *

 

 Dawn was fast approaching. By the time both Grey Wind and Ghost howled, Tormund Giantsbane, a wildling with ruddy hair and beard was the last one standing. Wounded, but still standing. 

 "I should have thrown you from the top of the Wall, boy!" Tormund shouted when Jon instructed to have him put in chains for questioning. 

 "You knew that wildling?" Robb asked him. 

 "He's one of Mance Rayder's lieutenants. He commands many wildlings," Jon answered and started to make towards the tunnel, but Robb diverted his way. "Where are you taking me?"

 "Come with me," Robb said in a whisper. He led Jon into the pen where Ghost had been housed before Sam released him. There, he saw Obara tending to Ygritte. "I found your lady. She was lucky that Olly missed anything vital. Do not blame the boy. She killed his parents." 

 Jon nodded and went towards Ygritte, who strained to even sit. For the first time, he saw her crying. "I thought... I thought you would never want me again," she told him when he embraced her. "When you turned your back... I shot you because I thought that you wouldn't leave." 

 "Shh... I'm here now," Jon soothed her and thanked Obara. 

 "No one can know that she is alive," Obara reminded the two brothers. "You must hide her if you two are to be together in the future." 

 "Where can I go?" Ygritte asked. "If I go back, Mance will have me killed for betraying my people. If I stay... they'll kill me because I'm a wildling." 

 There was a great silence. Then, Robb unsheathed his sword and cut Ygritte's hair off, much to her shock. "Find a suit of Northern armor and follow Obara to Queensguard. Once there, you will take a spear and join Obara's ranks. There are a few women-warriors there and they will take care of you." He then turned towards Obara. "Take half of our survivors back to Queensguard and determine the situation there. Send a raven here as soon as you can make your report." 

 Obara nodded and quickly left with Ygritte, who shared one last glance with Jon. They could not even say their goodbyes before she seemed to have vanished into thin air with Obara. 

 "You don't know how many thousands of laws you have just broken," Jon told Robb, who hugged him tightly after the women left. "Thank you." 

 "I don't have a choice, do I?" Robb asked. "One look at the two of you and I knew that she was your lady love. To be able to find love in these times... you don't know how lucky you are." 

 "I owe you... everything," Jon told Robb when they parted. "I really do." 

 "Don't thank me just yet," Robb said when they got out of the pen. "You still have a lot of work to do." 

 Together, they went about sorting their dead. Those of the Northern armies were brought into one pile, Black Brothers in another and wildlings in a third. Jon went about surveying everything in Castle Black while Robb focused on congratulating his men for a night's work well done with Theon, who had miraculously survived defending the inner gate of the tunnel. 

 "We held them off," Sam said with a small smile. 

 "For one night," Jon returned gravely. 

 "This is a great victory." 

 "A great victory? Mance was testing our defenses. He almost made it through," Jon said, looking at the damage done. Some of the Northerners had already started to repair the broken southern gate, which made Jon's stomach lurch deeper. It was another kindness that the Night's Watch owed Robb. "He has more giants. He has more mammoths. He has a thousand times as many men if Robb's men have to retreat back south. They'll hit us again tonight. Maybe we can hold them off for a day or two, but we'll never beat them." 

 Sam knew that whatever Jon had said was right. It was only a fool's hope that one victory could bring down the wildling armies. However, he did notice that Jon was taking a strange path. He was walking towards the tunnel. "Where are we going?" he asked Jon. 

 "I'm going to find Mance," Jon said plainly. 

 "You can't do that!" Sam shot back. "No one gave you any orders!" 

 Jon did not care about that. "Who's left to give orders?" he asked. Ser Alliser was deeply injured, Janos Slynt was still skulking in the back of the kitchen and Robb held no sway over him. "The wildling army's only an army because of Mance. He united a hundred warring tribes. Without Mance, they lose their leader and their purpose. They'll go back to fighting each other and scatter back to their homes." 

 It was only then did Sam understand the meaning behind Jon's words. "Without Mance?" he asked. "You're going to kill him?"

 "I'm gonna try," Jon said, eying his surroundings for Robb, in case he tried to stop him. 

 "They'll never let you within 100 yards of him, and even if they did, even if you managed to kill him..." 

 Jon harrumphed. "They'll kill me?" he asked Sam. "If I don't go, they'll kill me anyway. They'll kill the rest of us, too." 

 Sam nodded pointedly, but continued anyway. "They won't  _just_ kill you," he reminded Jon. "They'll boil you, they'll flay you.. They'll make it last days." 

 "Jon, where are you going?" Robb asked, interrupting their conversation. "What are you trying to do?"

 Sighing, Jon wondered if Robb had eyes on the back of his head. "I'm going out there, and you can't come with me," he said. 

 "Your Grace, Jon's going for Mance Rayder," Sam said, in a last ditch effort in trying to stop Jon. 

 "Don't be stupid Robb," Jon spat. "You're King in the North. You can't sacrifice yourself like that out there. You have a son and our brothers and sisters waiting for you back home and your mother. You have a whole kingdom to lead and a war to fight..." 

 Robb sighed. He knew that Jon was right. He had too many responsibilities, too much work that was still went unfinished. "Then go with the Gods," he said. "Come, Sam and I will walk you until the end of the tunnel." 

 Thus, the three of them started their walk. They went through the tunnel and walked in silence until they came to the inner gate, strewn with bodies. There were twelve dead there. Six of the Night's Watch, a giant and five from Robb's army. 

 "They held the gate," Jon said, standing over Grenn's corpse, forcing Grenn's eyes to close. "Go and get some help. We need to burn the bodies." Sam nodded sadly and they continued to walk towards the end of the tunnel. "Raise the outer gate and lower it as soon as I'm out." 

 As the gate was being raised,  Jon unbuckled his sword-belt and handed Longclaw to Sam. Robb knew what he was trying to do. If he was going to assassinate Mance Rayder, he had to go there unarmed to avoid suspicion. There would be plenty of weapons to be used once he was in the wildling camp. As if the comfort Sam, he said, "I promised Mormont I'd never lose it again... in case I don't come back." 

 "Jon..." 

 "You have to come back, you hear me?"

 Jon did not even dare to look at them. Sam and Robb were the dearest things in his life, apart from Ygritte. They were his brothers. One from the same father and the other from the same oaths. He had no choice. He knew that there was once when Mance Rayder trusted him and he had to use that to their advantage. He walked out of the Wall and into the wild, taking another step only when the gate had closed. 

 "Do you think that he..." 

 "Jon's survived until now, Sam," Robb said. "Any man this lucky would surely continue being so lucky. Come. We still have a lot of work to do." 

 When they emerged from the tunnel, Robb was met with Theon, who held a message in his hands. "Robb, our fleet at White Harbor was fallen," he said, handing the message to him.  It was written by Arya, proven by the scrawling scribblings that she had always done when in great haste. "This came from Winterfell to Queensguard. Stannis Baratheon made it through the blockade you put there before you left. He's probably made his way here." 

 "Stannis Baratheon won't attack the Wall, would he?" Sam asked. 

 "No," Robb said. "He wants to destroy the wildlings. He wants to show the world that he can do what the North cannot." He turned towards Sam. "I must confer with my council at Queensguard. Do everything that your duties entail, Samwell Tarly. Send us a raven every two hours if you are able. Keep a weather eye towards the north. Stannis won't attack Castle Black, but he may attack my men after he is done with the wildlings." 

 Sam nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. I know what to do." 

 Robb gave Sam's shoulder a brotherly smack and left with Theon post-haste, leaving him to deal with the aftermath of the previous night's battle in Castle Black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, we have the great battle against the wildlings through Jon and Robb's eyes. I know, there wasn't much action in this but... there will be in the future. I hope. 
> 
> You know, I didn't really want Ygritte to survive, but I thought, hey, I killed Talisa off, so... let's have Ygritte live. I do hope you like how she survived. 
> 
> HUHUHUHU, what would happen when Stannis meets Robb though?
> 
> Today's pop culture reference comes from LOTR: Return of the King. It's blatantly obvious, that one. 
> 
> Enjoy!


	53. The Battle of the Three Kings

 There was little decision to be made by the Northern lords. They had all agreed that they would thaw the tunnel on their side and storm towards Stannis Baratheon's army in retaliation to what they had done to their fleet. They were lucky. The previous night's battle had only thinned their numbers by several hundred and the Wildlings that arrived there thinking that it would be unmanned were slaughtered before they could even reach scale that section of the Wall under the leadership of the Blackfish. 

 "Men of the North and Dorne!" Robb called towards his men once they were all out of the tunnel and in formation. "My brothers! We have been through many things together. We took Casterly Rock and we survived a wildling siege last night. I could not have asked for finer compatriots! Today, Stannis Baratheon comes attacking the wildlings. My father might have supported his claim to the Iron Throne, but where was Stannis Baratheon when the Lannisters beheaded him? Where was Stannis Baratheon when my sisters were captives of the crown? Stannis Baratheon burns all those who oppose him. He killed his own brother for daring to go against his claim and now he destroyed the Northern Fleet at White Harbour. We cannot stand for this!" 

 "No!" came the chorus of roars before him. 

 "My brothers, we fight Stannis Baratheon because he assumes that all is his by right. The North and Dorne were never conquered and we will never be conquered! Ride, ride now! We ride for our homes and we ride for our sovereignty!" 

* * *

 

 Jon was facing Mance Rayder. He knew that the world would give a heavy price to be the one in his shoes. The man who killed the King Beyond the Wall was a man that all of Westeros was indebted to. If he had wanted it, perhaps he would even be King in the North of Robb allowed it. But he was not there because he wanted to be a king. He was there because he was the only one from the Night's Watch that Mance Rayder knew. He was there because Mance Rayder would want to speak to him, no matter what the consequences were. 

 The wildlings all watched him with deadly eyes when he entered their encampment. They cursed him, his family. They cursed Ygritte, who they thought was dead, for ever loving him. Jon gave none of them any mind. He walked until he came to Mance's tent and held both his hands up as a sign of peace, as a sign that he was not armed. 

 "You're wearing a black cloak again," Mance commented, although he did not sound surprised. 

 "I've been sent to negotiate with you," Jon replied, his face stoic. Robb said that Sansa had a "courtly face". Her eyes and expression would become blank when she faced those who stood against her in King's Landing. He wondered if he had such a face as well. 

 Mance studied Jon up and down. Jon knew that he was disappointed. He could have given the wildling ranks so many things. He could have been a bargaining chip and now he was lost. "It appears my trusting nature got the better of me," he said. "It's happened before. I was hoping your loyalty was real when you pledged yourself to us, Jon Snow." 

 "It's Jon Stark now," Jon added. "My brother gave me the name Stark after he realized his hold on the North again." 

 He had half expected Mance to not care, but he did. "Jon Stark it is. You're a princeling now, eh? I met your father, Lord Stark once, back when I was a Crow. Real good man, honorable to a fault." 

 "My father died because he was the most honorable man in Westeros," Jon commented. "I intend to be as much like him. Truly I was loyal. The Halfhand ordered me to join your army and bring back whatever information I could to Castle Black. He made me kill him so you'd trust me. I was loyal... to him and to my Night's Watch vows." 

 Mance raised an eyebrow. "All your vows?" he asked. Oh, Mance knew about him and Ygritte. "She wasn't enough to turn you, eh? Were you enough to turn her?"

 "She put three arrows in me when I escaped," Jon answered. 

 "Did you see her again at Castle Black?"

 "Yes." 

 "And?"

 "She's... at a better place now." 

 "No," Jon answered with a deep breath. "Robb's Dornish captain, Obara Sand." Mance Rayder had been a Black Brother for long enough to understand the politics of Westeros. He knew what Dorne was. 

 "I didn't know that your brother would ally himself to Dorne," he mused and shrugged. "We'll drink to her." Cups were placed before them and a strange liquid was poured into them. Mance saw that Jon had a slight moment of hesitation and added, "Of all the ways I'd kill you, poison would be the last. Ygritte." 

 Jon raised his cup and repeated, "Ygritte." He drank whatever was served, but coughed after the drink entered his throat. "That's not wine." 

 "Not, it's a proper Northern drink, Jon Stark," Mance quipped. "You did well, fought hard, killed some of our strongest men. One of our giants went into your tunnel and never came out again. Mag the Mighty." 

 "He's dead," Jon returned. "He killed my friend, Grenn." 

 "He was their king. The last of a bloodline that stretches back before the First Men." 

 "Grenn came from a farm." 

 Mance raised his cup for the both of them. "Mag and Grenn." 

 "Grenn and Mag." 

 Mance nodded and asked the man nearest to him for something to eat. "So, you're here to strike a bargain?" 

 "Turn your army around and go home," Jon said plainly. 

 "You know I know you're low on arrows. You're low on oil, you're low on men. How many are left, fifty?" 

 Jon refused to back down. "I told Tormund and Orell. We have more than a thousand men," he replied. 

 "I showed you everything I had," Mance continued. "The whole army, a hundred thousand strong. And what did you do? You fired on us with everything you had. It wasn't much. As soon as I saw that, I sent 400 men to climb the Wall..." 

 "The Northern army killed them all," Jon cut in, even though he did not know the success of Robb's men at Queensguard. "My brother has his best men there." 

 Mance had no choice but to shrug in slight defeat. "Still, it's me being honest with you, Jon Snow, which is more than you've ever done for me. My people have bled enough. We're not here to conquer, we're here to hide behind your Wall. Just like you." It was then when Jon saw that there were many knives in that tent. Some of them were Mance's weapons, but those were out of reach. What was in his reach was the knife Mance's cook had and currently it was unattended. "We need your tunnel. Now we both know that winter is coming. And if my people aren't south of the Wall when it comes in earnest, we'll all end up worse than dead. You want to strike a bargain with me? Here's the bargain. You go back, you open the gates to us and I swear that no one else will die. Refuse... and we'll kill every last men at Castle Black." 

 Jon did not reply. However, his eyes remained on the knife for far too long. "Oh, that's why you're here," Mance said, clicking his tongue. "I reckon you could do it before any of them could stop you. They'd kill you of course. They'd kill you slow. But you knew that when you came in here. Are you capable of that, Jon Stark? Killing a man in his own tent when he's just offered you peace? Is that what the Night's Watch is? Is that what you are?"

 Before Mance could do anything, war-horns were sounded. "Riders coming!" Mance's men exclaimed. 

 Immediately, Mance took the nearest blade to him and pointed it towards Jon's neck. "Are you attacking us?" he demanded. 

 "No!" Jon replied. "It's like you said. We don't have the men!" 

 What was Robb thinking? Why was he attacking? Why didn't Robb wait for him? However, something did not feel right. The presence that approached the wildling camp. They did not belong to the North. There was no air of familiarity, no feeling of kinship. 

 It was utter chaos. Riders in mail, astride powerful horses closed in the encampment from two sides. They came in full ranks, organized in a pincer formation that held the wildlings like a vice. Mance's army, although numerous was decimated quickly. He knew that it would be a lost cause if they even tried to fight back. The wildlings had never faced a proper organized army before. It was too late to learn anyways. 

 "Stand down!" Mance shouted. "I said my people have bled enough and I meant it." After saying those words, he thrust his sword and dagger into the ground. Those around him followed suit and they were greeted by other riders in fine armor. 

 "You're the King Beyond the Wall?" one of them asked. He had greying hair and a thin, raised hairline. There was a dour expression on him. Next to him was a balding man with a thick beard. He seemed more reasonable than the dour man for whatever reason. "Do you know who I am?"

 Mance threw his hands up. "Never had the pleasure," he said. 

 "This is Stannis Baratheon, the one true king of the Seven Kingdoms," the older man proclaimed. 

 Mance did not seem to care. "We're not in the Seven Kingdoms and you're not dressed for this weather." 

 Stannis did not care about Mance's nonchalance either. "It is customary to kneel when surrendering to a king," he said. 

 "We do not kneel." 

 "I'll have thousand of your men in chains by nightfall. I have nowhere to put them and have nothing to feed them. I'm not here to slaughter beat dogs. Their fate depends on their king." 

 "All the same... we do not kneel." 

 Just then, different horns blared. A great wolf-howl followed and no one could see what was happening. They came in like hog, from the same direction where Stannis and his men had entered the wood. These new men came in horses and they slaughtered every single man in plated, Westerosi armor. 

 Stannis Baratheon knew who he was fighting against, it seemed. "It's Robb Stark!" he shouted, getting back onto his horse. "Reform the lines! Give them all you've got!" 

 Stannis Baratheon brought 2800 men north of the Wall to fight wildlings, but he did not expect Robb Stark to be there as well. Word was spread all over that he had been despondent following the passing of his Queen. That he had locked himself in his room in Winterfell. They were all lies. 

 "You southerners are wily cunts," Mance told Jon when the chaos left his encampment. He knew that he and his people would fall to the winning side. "You're fighting amongst each other to show who is better by racing against each other to see who blots us off the fastest?"

 Jon shook his head. "Robb isn't like that," he told Mance. "He's a good man. No one's like my father more than he is." 

 "Does your brother want Seven Kingdoms too?" Mance asked after returning to his tent to retrieve their drinks, seeing that no one seemed to care about them for the time being. 

 "He only wants the North," Jon explained. "He wants to create the old Northern Kingdom." 

 "So, he'll be more reasonable than you then?"

 "Perhaps." 

 "So, how many Kings are we gonna see today? Stannis, Robb Stark..."

 "It's called the War of the Five Kings, Mance." 

 "Five kings..." Mance shook his head. "How many now still live?"

 "Lost count, actually."

* * *

 Like how Stannis had descended upon the wildlings, Robb's descent upon Stannis was quick. Although they were beyond the Wall, they were still in the North. The Northern Armies were used to fighting in the cold. They were used to fighting in snow-covered forests and in the deep snow, their grey uniforms practically made them unseen. Borrowing the Dornish tactic of fighting from places unseen, the Northerners picked off the Baratheon men one by one until all that remained were Stannis and his personal guard. 

 Stannis was glowering when he came face to face with Robb. "Your father died for my cause, boy," he spat when Obara put chains around him. "What makes you think that your cause carries any legitimacy?"

 "My father died for your cause, aye," Robb repeated. "But you sat there in Dragonstone when your nephew cut his head off. You did nothing to help him didn't you? My father broke the siege of Storm's End during Robert's Rebellion. Is this how you repay him?"

 "Robb Stark, you are doing no better to go against the King of Westeros," Ser Davos Seaworth countered. "My raising your own armies and marching against the King. You have committed treason." 

 "The North is it's own kingdom," Robb bit back. "We are an independent nation. If you want to be King of Westeros. You will have to be the King of Six Kingdoms, Your Grace. Then you'll have to have a Dornish wife or else you'll only end up with Five." 

 Ser Davos wanted to charge towards Robb, but Stannis stopped him. "So, the rumors are true," Stannis concluded. "You sold your own sister off the Dorne, and for what? Why only stop at the North and Dorne when the two of your Houses can carve the Seven Kingdoms for yourselves? Do you really think that a Targaryen girl is worth fighting for?"

 "It's the Targaryen dragons that I'm fighting for," Robb answered and nodded towards Theon and Obara. "Take him back to Queensguard and have them all in chains, but give them plenty of food and water." 

 "Where are you going?" Theon asked him. 

 "I'm off to find Jon." 

* * *

 "Look, another southern King who thinks he owns the whole damn world is here," Mance jested when Robb rode into his encampment. "Are you going to make me kneel too?"

 "No, Your Grace," Robb replied. "I'm here to barter my brother back and offer you terms." 

 Already Mance could see a difference between Robb Stark and Stannis Baratheon. They were equally slimy and wormy, as all southerners were, but Robb Stark was cleverer about it. He would just have to see how clever the boy really was. Robb did not need to use any kind of formality with him, being a self-styled king, but he did. It was the same kind of foolish thing that Jon did when they first met too. 

 "Your brother was never a prisoner," Mance said, gesturing towards Jon. "He came here a free man and he will leave a free man. Although... I have never heard of a princely Crow before... Come. We have food and drink aplenty." 

 Robb nodded and went into Mance's tent with Jon. "Your Grace. I will be honest with you," Robb said. "Just this morning you had a hundred thousand men and now, you have a precious few left. Stannis Baratheon came with a little less than three thousand men and they've wiped your forces off. What do you think forty thousand Northerners can do to you if you even succeeded killing off the Night's Watch?"

 "I told you Stark pups, we're not here to pillage and burn," Mance said. "We are here to hide..." 

 "From the White Walkers, yes," Robb said. "I had a vision when my wife died. The White Walkers have claimed many of your people, haven't you. You've remembered the old stories. The first Long Night was only prevented when the King Beyond the Wall and the King in the North banded together and defeated the Night's King. Afterwards, they built the Wall to prevent anything from coming into Westeros. But do you know something? The Wall isn't enough." 

 For whatever reason, Mance seemed very interested in what Robb had to say. "Go on," he said. "I'm listening." 

 "The Children of the Forest had dragonglass weapons," Robb said. "The Westerosi had Valyrian steel. Jon killed a wight with Valyrian steel before and where Stannis Baratheon came from, there are mines and mines of dragonglass just waiting to be used. I'm not asking you to submit to southern rule. I am asking you to work with us. You want to hide behind the Wall? Fine with me, but you must promise that you will do your part when the fighting starts." 

 "You subdued another king," Mance returned. "You put him in chains. What stops you from doing the same to me?"

 Robb smiled. "Your Grace, I only brought a pair of chains with me," he said. "Now come. We will bring you to Queensguard as well, but you will be our guests. Will your people follow?"

 Mance nodded reluctantly. "I will talk to them first," he said. "Wait for us outside." 

 Jon then led Robb out. They walked a great distance away from Mance's tent. "Are you out of your mind, Robb?" Jon asked. "You... you're allying yourself with the wildlings!" 

 Robb raised an eyebrow at Jon. "Yes, and it's what you would've done too if it was your call to make. We'll need every sword there is. Frankly, with the wildlings here up on the Wall, I'm more confident that we can move south." 

 "What?"

 "Oberyn Martell's leading the Dornishmen towards Dragonstone as we speak," Robb said. "Maybe he's already had Dragonstone... I don't know. Stannis Baratheon burnt down our fleet when he came here. We razed his army to avenge White Harbor. What I said to Mance was true. When Talisa died, I held her body and I wouldn't let go of it. But when I had to, I saw a vision like Sansa did. I saw the Targaryen dragons on the Wall, burning down legions of White Walkers. I saw Black Brothers and Wildlings shooting them down with dragonglass arrowheads. It was like the Field of Fire all over again, but against the Walkers. That's why we need the Targaryens, Jon, not because their rule is right, because White Walkers fear dragon-fire." 

 Jon sighed. "Your lords agreed to all this?" he asked. 

 "They will follow me to the death, as they would Father," Robb reminded him. 

 "And the Targaryen girl, you would think that she would understand all this? She grew up in Essos. She still rules in Essos." 

 "That's why Sansa is there," Robb explained further. "She is there to bring her home." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a saying in Chinese that says "In the struggle between a clam and the stork that trie to eat it, the fisherman benefits." It means that where two parties fight amongst each other, the third reaps it all. Then again, Stannis should have been smarter NOT to attack the North in its own turf. 
> 
> I set the stage for this... only because when Dany was in the House of the Undying, she saw the Wall. There must be a reason why it was featured so prominently to her. 
> 
> Can Robb convince Dany not to burn the North down after everything ends though? That is another matter altogether. 
> 
> Enjoy!


	54. The Meeting of Kings

 Not many people can say that they had successfully taken two main keeps of two separate Great Houses within a year, but Oberyn Martell was one such man. Granted, Robb Stark was given the credit for the conquest of Casterly Rock but it was Oberyn Martell and his Dornish host that had taken Dragonstone. However, it was not such a great conquest as he had hoped. Dragonstone was practically left empty following Stannis Baratheon's voyage towards the North, save for the fishing villages below it. It was a harsh place, where it was seemed to have been cursed by eternal storms that beat the castle and the volcano near it, the Dragonmont, which still spouted ash and dust into the skies, even when it rained. 

 "Everything here is so dark..." Tyene sighed as they came into the Chamber of the Painted Table. The Painted Table was the perfect map of Westeros, with all its cities and landmarks. As of yet, there were certain territories there that were outdated, especially those lines that dictated which territories belonged to whom. The Dornish fleet had sailed the the dark of night, weighing anchor in Essos with their trading partners, escaping the notice of any Lannister (or remaining Baratheon) agents until it was too late.

 "With the volcano behind us and the constant raining, everything _should_ be dark, my dear," Oberyn said. "I can just imagine the look of Stannis Baratheon's face when Robb takes him and his army into custody. But then again, he's Stannis Baratheon, he wouldn't have any kind of expression, wouldn't he?"

 Sarella and Tyene raised eyebrows at their father, not getting the gist of his jest at all. To them, Stannis Baratheon was a faraway enemy and no longer a problem in their eyes, thanks to Sansa's brother, Robb. "Papa, what are you talking about?" Sarella asked. 

 "Stannis Baratheon is as dour as this island," Oberyn explained. "He is as stubborn as a mule, but for whatever reason, he turned fanatic when a Shadowbinder from Asshai went into his arms, speaking the graces of the Lord of Light. Rumor has it that he had all his followers burned by the stake if they did not renounce the Faith of the Seven and followed this new religion."

 "Charmin' indeed," Bronn said, not caring if he had suddenly butted into the conversation between the Sand Snakes and Oberyn. He had gotten too used to the openness of Dornish nobility, and he was proud of it. "You know, Stannis Baratheon had an impressive fleet... too bad it all burned at Blackwater Bay." 

 Tyene rolled her eyes. "Yes, because you shot a flaming arrow into a ship filled with wildfire," she continued. "We all know that story now. You've been telling it over and over since we left Dorne." 

 "But he had gained a fleet of sellsails instead and they vurned the Northern fleet down," Oberyn said. "I am sure that our dear Robb Stark is very, very angry with Stannis now." 

 "Will King Robb kill Stannis?" Sarella asked. 

 "Maybe he will, or maybe he won't," Oberyn shrugged. "A year ago, I would have told you that he wouldn't. But now, I don't know, honestly." Like Sansa, Robb Stark was ultimately changed by what happened around him. Roose Bolton's betrayal had showed a different side to Robb. He was still honorable, he still loved his people, but he was now more than willing to do what he needed to do. The fact that he had exchanged his occupancy at Casterly Rock for the total annihilation of the Ironborn was another thing to consider. Now, Robb had that kind of clarity to see to attack Stannis while he was attacking the wildlings north of the Wall... He could now do very much anything. 

 "His Grace seems to think that we are in need of dragonglass," Brienne added. "Should I set the men to mining them once they have rested?"

 Dragonglass. They were such magical things. The maesters at Oldtown would gaze into candles made of dragonglass, thinking that they were capable of great magic and they would fail all the same. The tales of old said that dragonglass weapons were wielded by the Children of the Forest, and those weapons were of the few weaknesses White Walkers had. But should they believe in White Walkers, when they were fighting a war that already consumed much of the Seven Kingdoms? Should they even consider it? 

 Robb was not a raving lunatic, that much was sure. He had written about seeing the return of White Walkers, and that dragon-fire and dragonglass were the only things that they could use against the White Walkers. The Night's Watch, according to Robb, had met and killed such beings and they had suspicions that the wildlings wanted to get behind the Wall to hide from them. They had all believed in Sansa's vision, why should they reject all that Robb saw? "We will give what the King in the North wants, as is our part of the bargain," Oberyn said to Brienne. "If it's dragonglass he needs, it is dragonglass he gets. Perhaps, we should fashion some gifts for our beautiful Silver Queen and Sansa in Meereen as well, as proof of the success of our campaign here." 

 "What, you are going to tell the Silver Queen that you claimed Dragonstone in her name because Stannis Baratheon left it empty?" Tyene asked. "What would Uncle say about it?"

 "Your uncle will love me for my genius," Oberyn returned. "In fact, I suspect that it would make Sansa's job a little easier." The day they had left for Dragonstone, they had received another letter from Sansa, detailing the fact that Daenerys Targaryen had accepted Sansa as the Westerosi Ambassador and Tyrion Lannister as her political hostage, but there was nothing more. Sansa had allied herself to Daario Naharis, who was keen on getting into the Queen's bed, but there was no progress apart from that. It was evident that she was still not sure whether she could trust Sansa or the alliance that stood behind her, waiting for her return to Westeros. Dragonstone was her birthplace. Dragonstone was the stronghold of her ancestors longer than they had held the Iron Throne. Dragonstone would be a very valuable gift to the Silver Queen indeed.

* * *

 Robb Stark, Mance Rayder and Stannis Baratheon were looking squarely at one another. Soon after Robb's success in felling Stannis Baratheon's army in the most insulting way imaginable - mimicking his simple two-columned pincer formation against the wildlings, he had acquired a round table from Mole's Town. Round was the choice of shape because there was no apparent head. They were all kings in their own fashion and they all refused to back down. That was why a round table was needed. They would have a good conversation, and they would not leave until a settlement was reached. There were food and drinks to be had, but no one touched anything. 

 "So..." Mance Rayder said, trying to start the conversation. "Apart from us trying to kill one another, how are your families?"

 "My son was just born," Robb said, giving Stannis a subtle glare before turning towards Mance Rayder. "But my wife died in childbirth." 

 Mance Rayder sighed and clasped Robb's shoulder. "My condolences," he said. "Your son, is he well?"

 "Yes, Eddie is a fighter," Robb answered. "I thank you for your kindness." 

 This gesture in and of itself spoke volumes about Mance Rayder. He might have been a wildling, but he still had the decency to ask for their families. Stannis just sat absently at the table, trying to look as important as he could. 

 "And yours, Mance?" Robb returned. 

 "I was abandoned at Castle Black as a boy, and I saw the crows as my brothers until after I escaped and returned to my homelands," Mance returned. "I've not yet taken a wife, but I have a hundred clans as my children. Don't you southern lords often say that your people are your children?"

 "Aye, we do," Robb said. "We will fight for them too, as dearly as you would fight for yours." 

 It was then when Stannis pounded his fist on the table. Mance seemed quite displeased at Stannis' rudeness. "What's your problem?" he asked. 

 "What's my problem?" Stannis returned. "Have you forgotten that we should be fighting for our lives? Either of us could just kill each other and claim utter victory!" 

 "What's _your_  problem?" Mance repeated. "I thought we were going to have a civilized conversation with one another, and I'm the wildling here." 

 "Peace, Stannis," Robb said. "There is no need to get angry. As Mance said, we are going to have a civilized conversation. We come to this table as equals under parley. If we go on killing one another here, we'd be no different than the beasts that call themselves masters of the Seven Kingdoms." 

 Stannis sat himself back down, knowing that between Robb Stark and Mance Rayder, he was the one at the losing end. Even if he did remove most of Mance's military strength, there could be untold numbers of wildlings that have yet to emerge. There was no need to mention Robb's strengths. They were in Queensguard, a castle given to the Northern Armies to help the Night's Watch on the Wall. Stannis and his men gave everything they had to Robb's forces when they attacked, Robb not only emerged victorious, but retained minimal losses. In a night and a day of fierce battle, Robb's losses only numbered at a thousand, after facing fierce widlings and Stannis' 2800 men.

 "You're exceptionally canny for a green boy, Robb Stark," Mance said, eying Robb sideways. "Your brother, Jon was a clever one, but I can see that he has a heart of gold. You, on the other hand..." 

 "If it was not for those inbred bastards that call themselves Kings in King's Landing, I would still have been a lordling learning from my father how to rule the North as Lord Stark, not a king myself," Robb told Mance. "My people are tired. They are tired of a king hundreds of miles away, who does not even honor the same Gods as we do." Stannis knew those words were actually meant for him. He was more than sure of it. "I guess my rise to kingship is similar to yours, Mance. Your people rallied behind you. They have your trust." 

 Mance nodded. "Aye," he said. "I told them all that if we did not unite and fight as one, we'd be all worse than dead when the real challenge comes."

 "The only challenge here is you lot wanting to get behind our Wall to pillage and burn," Stannis hissed and then turned to Robb. "By the looks of it, I think that you're going to let him just to cement your own power!" 

 "My people will never fight for a foreign ruler, let this be clear," Mance proclaimed, standing up to stare Stannis down. "But I told Jon that we've bled enough. If you seek to drive us back out, we'll kill every single man, woman and child that tries to stop us!" 

 " _No one_  in Westeros will settle to a truce with wildlings!" Stannis bellowed, looking at Mance directly in the eye. "Robb Stark, you are a fool if you think that you can carry this truce off. Your lords will be marching south when that happens." 

 Robb sighed. "You are right, Stannis," he said. "However keen I am, I cannot call this truce by myself. I'll need the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch to decide if a truce with the wildlings is favorable. After all, it has been a great tradition for the North to work with the Night's Watch. My lords and I can only come to a decision once it has been made by the Lord Commander." 

 Mance was a Black Brother before. He knew how the Night's Watch worked. Knowing that Robb was right, he sank into his seat heavily and sighed. "As the King in the North says then," he said. "But what are you gonna do about him?" he asked, pointing his chin towards Stannis. 

 "Stannis?" Robb asked. "A king does not kill a king," he answered. "But he cannot be allowed to cause harm to our ventures in the future." 

 "A king?" Stannis spat. "You're no king, boy! _I_  am the rightful King of Westeros, any fool can tell you that." 

 "Do you know what being a king truly means?" Robb asked Stannis. "You might be a king, but you don't care for your people. When your brother, Renly, called himself a king, all you did was to meet him and demand his submission. All the lords of Storm's End claimed Renly as king and not you. That should have been a sign for you to have stopped contending. I am king because my people chose to follow me and so is Mance. Have you ever thought about them before? Or did you decided to burn all of them if they went against you?"

 Strangely, Stannis remained stoic. He did not speak. He was defeated and now, he was being condescended to by Robb Stark no less. The indignity that he was suffering held no bounds, but he would remain calm. He had always been calm. "My right to rule is legitimate. You, Robb Stark, you, are a rebel and a traitor." 

 "Aye, I am a rebel," Robb replied. "So was your brother, King Robert. He was a rebel when the Targaryens were in rule. We can sit here all day fighting about the legalities of our situation or we can handle it like grown men. Stannis, no one doubts that you were the one who defeated Mance's army and I defeated yours. We are all here to reach a settlement. Mance has already agreed to at least wait until the new Lord Commander decides the fate of the wildlings, but what about you. Where do you see yourself in the future?"

 "What choices do I have?" Stannis asked Robb. "You have decimated my men. All that belongs to me now are my family..." 

 "You can choose to be with your family," Robb told him. "With Mance Rayder as a witness, I offer you to forsake all claims you have as Stannis Baratheon, take your wife and daughter and you will be safe in Winterfell as long as you take a new name. I'd give you lands. The North is wide and plentiful. There is lots to spare." 

 Stannis looked squarely at Robb in his eye. "And what if I refuse?" Stannis asked. 

 "I'd have you killed, and your daughter betrothed to my son, Eddie to bind her to the North, one way or another," Robb replied. 

 "Tell me, how did that strategy ever fare for the Lannisters? You sold your sister to Dorne and now Dorne rises against the Lannisters as you have," Stannis added. That had been the strategy of the Lannisters. Sansa was held a hostage and betrothed to Joffrey for a time. 

 "My sister has me," Robb said. "I have armies, but your daughter will have no one." 

 Anyway he chose, he would be absorbed into the North. But he knew, that the moment that Robb took his victory against Mance Rayder and turned it into utter defeat, his fate was already in Robb's hands. He knew that he would never take the Black. To have done so would mean that he had done wrong, and he swore himself to the Night's Watch to atone for his wrongdoing. He had the right of way, but his only mistake was that he was defeated. He had suffered one humbling defeat and this had been his second one. He had no more right to fight as he had any right to lead. His claim was finished. 

 "Then I shall forsake my claims," Stannis said finally. "And take a new name for myself." 

 "We have come to a settlement then," Robb said, shaking Stannis' hand as he hung his head in shame. "Trust me, your wife and daughter will be well-protected. There is only one thing though: could you please get rid of your Red Priestess? I would have her ended before she burns all the weirwood trees for fuel for her Red God." 

* * *

 "A great victory, you say?" Daenerys asked Ser Barristan, who had come to deliver a message to her from Robb Stark himself.

 "Stannis Baratheon's army is wiped out, the Wall is defended against the wildlings, both Robb Stark's doing," Ser Barristan said, putting the message from the King in the North, sealed with the insignia of House Stark, the direwolf, aside. "He is an ally that you cannot stand without, Your Grace. The North is the largest territory in the Seven Kingdoms. Its people keep to their own and they have elected their own king." 

 "My father was the ruler of _Seven_  Kingdoms, Ser Barristan," Daenerys said firmly. "Didn't Robb Stark know that his ancestors bowed to the dragons of my ancestors? Don't I have three dragons also?" Robb Stark's manifesto was that the North was independent. Yet he reached out to her with an olive branch. With that message, came a banner It was split into three equal parts and the lower third of it was dyed a soft grey, grey that Sansa Stark seemed to have favored in her clothes. Through Sansa, Daenerys had come to recognize that grey as the symbolic color of the North. 

 Ser Barristan took a deep breath. "Perhaps, but the Northerners have indeed... tired of outsider rule, as it would seem," he said. "But I am not the best person to talk about this. I am not a Northerner. I was born in the Stormlands. You have two of them in your court, Your Grace. Perhaps you should talk to them?"

 Daenerys took a deep breath. She had avoided talking to Sansa in an official setting until now. But the ferocity of Robb Stark and the Northern armies cannot be forgotten and nor can her message be delayed any further. 

 "Very well, send Jorah and Princess Sansa in," she told Ser Barristan. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did you like Stannis, Robb and Mance's little "informal" meeting? That's not the end Stannis and Mance though, oh no. 
> 
> Should Dany be a teensy bit wary of Robb Stark? 
> 
> Wait... where the heck is Melisandre?
> 
> Enjoy~


	55. The Princess and the Queen

 Sansa was fidgeting with her dress as she waited for her turn to speak with Daenerys in her throne room. The day had finally come that she would meet formally with the Queen and she would lay out the terms and manifestos of the Stark-Martell Alliance. There, she stood right beside the doorway to the throne room, pacing while trying not to make herself too visible for the anyone inside. 

 "I don't see why you're even worried at all," Tyrion said, getting dizzy from all her pacing. "I mean... she doesn't have a choice." 

 "She has three dragons, she has all the choice in the world," Sansa said replied sharply, folding her hands together and then unfolding her hands again. 

 "Three dragons that we have seen no sign of since we've come here," Tyrion added. The dragons were there. There were reports aplenty about sightings of the dragons. Sansa had seen them in her visions. But they still did not see anything. It was as though they had not been there at all.

 Sansa shot a tired look towards Tyrion at his last jape. "Tyrion, please..." she said, glaring at him with the same intensity when Oberyn's jokes went out of hand. "You're not making this any easier." 

 "Well, why don't you have Daario ply a few choice words into the Queen?"

 "Tyrion!" 

 "If you didn't want the world to know, you sure weren't subtle about it," Tyrion replied. "But you're a Dornish princess now. Oberyn must've goaded you to it." 

 Sansa gave a hard-labored sigh and rolled her eyes. "She told him to chase my skirts as well. She wanted me to play into her hand, so I just went alone," she reasoned. "I didn't even know if I should have done it, but I did and there's that." 

 Tyrion's expression softened. "My dear, I understand," he said. Bringing the Volantene Navy to Robb Stark had been a thing of ease to her, little more than a holiday to her. Tyrion knew Sansa to have easily faced down his own sister at her most murderous, but even then, it was understandable that Sansa was finding it difficult to face Daenerys, just because the opponent was more or less like her. They both married to secure a military alliance, they fell in love with their husbands and they were young. They came from the most powerful families of Westeros at different times and the both of them had known the loss of fathers and brothers to war. They had roots that were similar, the same raw nerves. 

 "Princess," they were interrupted by Ser Jorah. "I am to bring you into the throne room." 

 Sansa looked at Jorah for one good moment, and nodded. "Thank you, Ser Jorah," she said and took his arm as he offered it. 

 "Good luck, my dear," Tyrion wished her before sauntering off into other corners of the Great Pyramid. He knew that his turn with the Queen would come soon as well, and he felt... luckier... somehow, that Sansa was the one who was going in first. 

 It would have been the second time that Sansa was in the throne room formally. Ser Barristan, Missandei, Grey Worm and Daario were all there, standing at various levels of the steps of the pyramid in the center and Daenerys on that simple chair in the pinnacle. 

 For someone with a family of "Fire and blood", Sansa felt that Daenerys was a cold sort of beauty. No doubt, she was fair, fairer than anyone in this part of Essos. Yet, there was no warmth in the glint of her golden hair, appearing to be more silver than gold. To Sansa, Daenerys was like the morning of pale spring still clinging to winter's chill. 

 "Your Grace," Sansa greeted Daenerys with a formal bow. 

 "Princess Sansa," Daenerys returned the greeting. "I believe that I have been remiss. You came with an important message and I have only been able to speak to you now." 

 Sansa gave her most radiant smile and shook her head. "Your time is precious, Your Grace," she said and spoke no further, waiting for Daenerys to make her move. 

 "It is to my understanding that you are a princess of two lands, Princess Sansa," Daenerys continued. "The North and Dorne. You carry messages from both?"

 "Yes, Your Grace," Sansa said. "I was tasked to act as the Ambassador of the North and of Dorne, representing both my brother, Robb Stark, the King in the North and my brother-in-law, Prince Doran Martell." 

 "Please, tell us that message," Daenerys said, with bated breath. 

 Sansa looked directly into Daenerys' eyes, eyes that sometimes contained a violet tinge or a pale blue depending on the light. "The North and Dorne have entered a formal alliance with one another and we humbly request that you return to Westeros with all your hosts. Together, we shall conquer our enemies and retain peace and order in Westeros to last a thousand generations." 

 There, she said it. She had said the words that Doran and Oberyn had been training her to say. She had sung the song that they had needed her to sing, and yet they were so far away from Daenerys that she, and not them, would be the one to have the first taste of the Queen's reaction of their message, for better or for worse. 

 "All my hosts?" Daenerys asked. "Does the North and Dorne not have armies of their own." 

 "The Stark-Martell alliance has roughly ninety thousand men," Sansa answered. At once, she understood the game that Daenerys was playing. The Silver Queen was weighing her options. She wanted to know just how much she was wanted in Westeros. It must have plagued her mind for a long, long while. She had been away from her own lands for so long that everyone has forgotten her. She wanted reassurance that she was needed there. "But strength in numbers isn't the only thing that wins wars." 

 "Why should I listen to you?" Daenerys demanded, although in the gentlest manner possible. "Your father raised his banner against mine, he secured Robert Baratheon's rule. Your husband's family was forced to fight only because my father held Princess Elia in King's Landing..." 

 Sansa knew that Daenerys was merely goading her. Those words were merely modes in self-defense. She did not begrudge Daenerys for saying them. "Your father burnt my grandfather and strangled my uncle," Sansa returned with a pointed look on her face. "Robert's Rebellion would not have started if Prince Rhaegar did not abandon Princess Elia for my aunt, Lyanna, and had her locked in the Tower of Joy. Your Grace, we could do this for hours, repeating every slight we have against each other. We didn't do all of those things to each other." 

 Daenerys' eyes widened. Indeed, the rumors were true. Sansa Stark had the face of a porcelain doll but the bite of cold steel. "Alright, then we move to the deeds of our generation then," she said. "Your brother announced a great victory. I think you must have heard of it already." Another look at Sansa confirmed her proclamation. "Robb Stark has successfully conquered the armies of Stannis Baratheon several miles north of the Wall and now Stannis has revoked all his claims and rights to all his ancestral titles. He has now taken a new name for himself, House Prior. Stannis Prior, his wife, Lady Selyse and his daughter, Lady Shereen have been granted good lands near the Wolfswood. Forgive me if I am mistaken, Sansa, but your brother seems to be doing really well by himself." 

 "Robb has ten thousand Dornish soldiers serving under him, as tokens of Dorne's friendship with the North," Sansa added. "My two oldest stepdaughters, Obara and Nymeria Sand, serve as his captain and lieutenant." 

 Daenerys nodded towards Grey Worm, who retrieved a banner from behind the pyramid. "This is the banner your brother sent to me," she said. The banner was split into three parts, the first two were not yet dyed, but the bottom third was dyed in a soft grey. It was the grey Robb had used to make his new standards, the grey of the unified North. "Could you tell me what is the meaning behind this?"

 "This grey, Your Grace, is the new shade of grey Robb took to symbolize the Kingdom of the North," Sansa said. She would not sugarcoat her words. She would present them simply to the Queen. She knew that Daenerys was not one for veiled courtesies or threats in any matter. "It is slightly darker than the grey we use for the direwolf on our own banners. It symbolizes the unity between the commonfolk, the lords and the King in the North. They are all one shade of grey." 

 "This implies that the Kingdom of the North does not want to be included into the Seven Kingdoms, does it not?" Daenerys asked. "You do have courage, Princess Sansa, coming to me as a supplicant, but maintaining your brother's stand." 

 There it was, the thunder that Sansa had been dreading for so long. Now that it had passed, Sansa could finally breathe easy. "I have courage, Your Grace, because I know what Westeros needs. The North was not conquered, Your Grace. My ancestor, Torrhen Stark, bent the knee to your ancestor Aegon the First, because he feared for his people." 

 "He was right," Daenerys cut through. "My ancestor had three dragons with him. As do I." 

 "But Your Grace, has any Targaryen king after Aegon the First had any real hold over the North?" Sansa asked. "The North is too far away for the Iron Throne to properly administer. The King was so far away that whatever he did in King's Landing did not matter to the North. We hold our own Gods and our own counsel there. There is no difference between how the North functioned before Aegon's Conquest and how the North currently functions. If the North fell under the Iron Throne once again, you might have to deal with a rebellious territory, but if Robb rules the North as an independent kingdom, he rules it as your loving neighbor." 

 Silence fell in the throne room. Sansa looked at all of them and found that Ser Barristan had been shifting uncomfortably, Missandei was biting her lip while Daario seemed to be utterly impressed, only to change his expression when he met the Queen's eyes. But there was this unmistakable smirk on Ser Jorah's face. It was as if some part of him was extremely proud of her. 

 "Ser Jorah, you were the Lord of Bear Island previously," Daenerys said, turning towards her most trusted advisor. "What do you think? Does the rest of the North mirror the sentiments that Princess Sansa have set to us?"

 Taking a deep breath, Ser Jorah alternated between glances towards Sansa and Daenerys. "Your Grace, the North is proud. They hold to their own. If the lords of the North chose their own King, they will continue to support him, no mater what, dragons or no dragons," he said. Those were simple words, yet they were words that spoke volumes. If he was convinced that the North cannot be moved, then it was a reality that Daenerys knew that could not be turned around. 

 "Your Grace, you built your power here with the support of the freedman and those of low birth," Sansa added. "They will die for you. It is the same with Robb and the Northern lords." 

 Daenerys held her hand up, a gesture brought silence back into the throne room. "Your offer of an alliance is indeed generous, Princess Sansa," she said. "But I would have to confer with my advisors before I give you my answer. As for Dorne..." she looked towards Ser Barristan, who gave her a subtle nod. "I will welcome any help that Dorne has given to me. Your husband, Prince Oberyn, has retaken Dragonstone in my name and I am extremely grateful for it." 

 Then, Missandei rose and passed a beautiful bangle to Sansa. In one light, it was jet black, and yet in another, it glistened with threads of green and red. The bangle was also followed with a letter that was sealed with the sun and spear of House Martell. "Prince Oberyn has sent gifts to you and I, Princess Sansa," Daenerys continued. "He has given you this bangle made of dragonglass and me a circlet. He prays that you are safe and bade me to give you this letter." 

 Sansa thanked Daenerys for passing the message to her graciously, yet there was a shadow of doubt in her. "Your Grace?" she asked. "Is there anything else that you would like to know?"

 "Why Dragonstone?" Daenerys asked. 

 "Dragonstone is where you are born, Your Grace," Sansa answered. "It is also where dragonglass is abundant. We... we used to have a woman who would tell my brothers and sisters and I stories at bedtime. She said that the Children of the Forest used weapons made from dragonglass against the White Walkers..." 

 "White Walkers?" Daenerys asked. "Did Prince Oberyn claim Dragonstone in my name just for weapons that might kill fairytales?"

 "They might be fairytales, Your Grace," Sansa reiterated. "But my father executed a deserter from the Night's Watch who saw one. Wildlings have gathered by the hundred thousand under Mance Rayder to hide behind the Wall, which has repelled White Walkers before... Perhaps it is time that we had better start believing in fairy tales, Your Grace. We might already be in one as we speak." 

 "That would be all, Princess Sansa," Daenerys concluded. "I will have your answer about the North soon." 

 Sansa bowed and walked towards the entrance of the throne room, escorted by Grey Worm. 

 "That went tremendously well, didn't it?" Daenerys asked, finally able to slump her shoulders a little. For whatever reason, just seeing Sansa in a formal setting made her want to sit a little straighter and inch her neck a little longer. Sansa had been nothing but courteous and gracious, but every single word that came out of her mouth had been thinly veiled threats. They were threats that her brother made, but not her, but she carried them. "My father was ruler of Seven Kingdoms and now, if in any way this new alliance succeeds, I will rule only Six." 

 "That may be, Your Grace," Ser Barristan said. "But you are all held as family. Your brother, Rhaegar, loved Lady Lyanna Stark, who is their aunt. Elia Martell was Rhaegar's wife... perhaps that it is a sign of the Gods that such relations exist." 

 "There is also another danger, Your Grace," Ser Jorah added. "You have your dragons and the North has their direwolves, but you must remember that Princess Sansa is a Greenseer and a warg. This is a truth that you have experienced yourself. Whatever it is, you have seen each other in your visions. Rhaegal knows her although he has never seen her. Have you any notion what this implies?"

 "That I cannot kill her if I want the North and Dorne to support my claim to Westeros?" Daenerys mused. 

 "She might be able to control  Rhaegal, or possibly the rest of your children," Ser Jorah cautioned. "Wargs can control beasts, although whether or not she is capable of such a feat, is not really known." 

 "Must we test her?" Daenerys asked further. 

 "You must be ready for it as well," Ser Jorah continued. 

 "In any case, Your Grace, by allying yourself with the North and Dorne, you would have had the support of half of Westeros already," Ser Barristan said. "That is a very comforting notion, compared to basing your claims on mere rumor of loyalists to your cause. The Starks and the Martells support your claim to the Iron Throne at the end of the day. You need them now. You can iron out all the kinks later." 

* * *

 "You were  _astounding_  this morning," Daario said, playing with Sansa's new bangle as they sipped wine in her quarters in the Great Pyramid. Lady was still not used to him and would growl whenever he came near, but because Sansa tolerated his presence, Lady decided not to bite his hand off. 

 "Was I?" Sansa asked. "I thought that I was going to become the babbling idiot I was if Her Grace didn't stop bombarding me with questions." She had sworn that she would have soiled herself if she saw those cold eyes on her, dancing between utter rage or utter thankfulness for any moment longer. 

 Daario chuckled and leaned over to kiss her forehead. "The Queen is a little... hard to crack," he said. "But trust me, the effort would be worth the wait." 

 Sansa gave him a side-eye once he returned to his seat. "So... you haven't..." It often bewildered her, how Daario Naharis would want to even spend time with her when he was really after Daenerys. He had told her that the Queen had sent him after her to glean information from her, but as of yet, he had not told anything to Daenerys about her at all. 

 "Not yet," he answered. "But I think  that luck will come by my way soon enough. Desperation, my dear princess, makes people do strange things indeed." 

 "Would that be hers or yours?" Sansa asked further, finding herself quite drawn to her new bangle. It did have some significant heft to it, and it was so beautiful that she thought that she could not take her eyes off it. How did Oberyn ever know that she had been thinking of getting a bangle for herself ever since she had come to Meereen? They had packed everything in her trunk, except for a bangle that Princess Myrcella had given her when she arrived in Dorne. It had been a tiny trinket but she had missed the heft of something on her wrist. 

 Knowing that she was preoccupied in her thoughts, Daario chuckled and kissed the corner of her lip to bring her attention back to him. "Ours, perhaps," he replied. "But I am glad for you as well. You have a loving husband. Most men would have been drunk in victory but he remembers you." 

 "Oh, Oberyn would be bedding a pretty barmaid now for I know," Sansa said. 

 "But you are in his thoughts, even if you are right," he added. "That is a very encouraging thought, isn't it? Perhaps, that is just what the Queen needs. Someone who she knows is thinking about her at all times." 

 "And you would be that person?"

 "Well, yes," Daario said. "But in the meantime, I have to serve a princess, who seems to have a lot in her mind right now." With one swift move, he picked Sansa up so quickly that she could not help but yelp, alerting Lady who gave him a stern warning growl. However, since Sansa made no sound afterwards, Lady went back to her place by the hearth as Daario deposited Sansa on her bed gently. "Look at you, my beautiful princess, so tense after your meeting with the Queen. Is she so frightening to you?"

 Sansa rolled her eyes. "You have no idea," she replied. Soon after, she felt Daario fussing with her gown, trying to  undress her but he made no sense of the Dornish gown that she was wearing. "What are you doing, Daario?"

 "I am going to give you the best Tyroshi massage that you'll ever have," he proclaimed once he managed to shimmy her gown downwards. "Just relax and take a deep breath." 

 Sansa would have bolted up in defiance, but the moment his skillful hands came into contact with a particularly knotted and tense part of her back, she melted into his touch. "Where did you learn to do this?" she asked. 

 "My mother was a whore," Daario said, applying pressure to his balled fists at the lowest part of her spine. "She might have been a whore, but she was a very good one because she was a masseuse. As it turned out prostitution was far more lucrative than just messaging rich clients and I learned a thing or two before I left home." 

 By then, Sansa had completely surrendered to him. "Don't you dare stop," she commanded. "I will have Lady bite you if you do." 

 "Whoever said I was going to, princess?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Finally we get to the showdown between Sansa and Dany! 
> 
> Will we get to see the dragons later? 
> 
> Wasn't Oberyn sweet? naaaw.
> 
> This chapter's pop culture references are from LOTR: The Two Towers and Pirates of the Caribbean: the Black Pearl. 
> 
> Enjoy!


	56. The Choosing

 Stannis looked at Robb. While the Night's Watch elected their new leaders, Mance Rayder was to be a guest at Queensguard. There was still enough food to feed the surviving Wildlings and Robb's men, while Stannis' men had dispersed into the wind, having received clemency from Robb to find their own ways home. "Have you ever heard of the saying, 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend', Stannis?" Robb asked him. 

 "What about it?" Stannis asked him. 

 "Well, to be frank with you, I didn't know what I was thinking when I agreed to ally myself with the Martells," Robb said. "But all I knew was that we shared a common vengeance. The Lannisters had Elia Martell raped and murdered with her children, the Lannister boy, Joffrey, had my father executed. They killed your brother too. Would it make sense for us to work together to bring them down?"

 Stannis sighed. "I have no choice now, do I?" he said heavily. 

 "You do," Robb said. "I promised you a life of peace. You can take it if you wish. No one's stopping you. I'm just... giving you more options." 

 "The options before me are clear," Stannis said. "Yes, I would fight beside you, King Robb. But my family..." 

 "They will be housed in Winterfell, as promised, until your keep is ready," Robb reassured Stannis. "Your daughter will find good company with my sister, Arya. Perhaps, they can learn things from one another. If you are still unsure, you can station a few of your men there as well." 

 Stannis nodded. "Ser Davos Seaworth will be sufficient," he said. "At least then, I wouldn't be so worried..." 

 It seemed that Robb read his mind. "You're worried that Winterfell is a keep of women and children," he said. "Well, it is, but it is not utterly indefensible. I have the Hound stationed there as well. He might not be much, but however strange it is, my sister keeps him in check. I will also have another three thousand to garrison it. Don't worry. Winter is coming, and we Northerners know how to defend our own lands." 

"I... did not have the opportunity to offer you my condolences," Stannis said. "The loss of your wife..." 

 "My wife was a healer, Stannis," Robb told him. "Eddie came too early and she made a decision to see him safely born, even at the expense of her life. The North has never deserved a finer Queen, even if she came from Volantis... But you, Stannis, you're a lucky man. You have a wife, and a Red Priestess..." 

 "Melissandre..." Stannis said. "She came to me one day, and promised that I would be king, as was my birthright. It seems that I am not the one the Lord of Light had chosen." 

 "Did you ever put great stock in religion?"

 "No, not really," Stannis said. "But I had hoped... What will you do with her?"

 "So long as she drops your cause, she is free to go as she will," Robb said. 

 "Thank you, Your Grace."

 "Oh, and one thing, Lord Stannis," Robb said as Stannis turned to leave his company. "You and Ser Davos will join me for the Choosing at Castle Black before he makes for Winterfell." 

* * *

 

 "What am I doin' here?" Ygritte asked Obara, who came into the room she was housed in with bowls of black paste and a bucket of water. They had been in Queensguard for days now. Her wounds were on the mend, but she was still not allowed to go out into the open. "Where is Jon Snow?" 

 "Jon is in Castle Black," Obara said. "You can't go out with that red hair of yours, everyone will know that you are a wildling." It did not take a fool to realize that Ygritte stood out, even among the several women that came with the Dornish faction.

 "What are you gonna do to me?" Ygritte demanded, shoving Obara away from her. "You're not going to pluck it outta my head, are ya?"

 "Calm down," Obara placated her just as roughly as Ygritte pushed her. "I'm only going to dye your hair. Then you'll at least be able to pass as a half-Northern Dornish girl and you might be able to come with me if you want to see your little lover." 

 For whatever reason, Ygritte's expression brightened at the notion. "But I don't talk like you," she said as Obara started her work. "Where is Dorne, anyway?"

 "As far south as south goes in Westeros," Obara explained. "When I came up here with His Grace, I never saw a fleck of snow before. Dorne is surrounded by the sea, but within our lands are deserts as far as the eye can see. You wear those furs and skins with you into Dorne and you will bake in hours." 

 "Jon said all the ladies in the south wore pretty silk dresses," Ygritte recounted, looking at her reflection in the bucket of water. Obara was combing her hair down, taming the wild mop of hair somewhat before she could work the dye into her hair. "Do you wear dresses, Obara?"

 Obara scoffed at such a notion. "Only when I absolutely have to," she replied. "I prefer long tunics like how my father wears them. We wear dresses for important events like harvest festivals or when important guests come to my uncle's keep." 

 Ygritte listened, trying not to struggle. The comb that Obara was using was so fine that she could have sworn that the other woman tugged off a good strand or three. "Is your father an important man?" she asked. "You command quite a lot of them soldiers, don't you?"

 "My father is a Prince of Dorne," Obara explained. "But he is only the second son, so my uncle rules it. He recently married King Robb's sister, Princess Sansa in the name of the alliance between the North and Dorne. Why all the questions?"

 It was then when Ygritte actually sighed. "I can't go back out there any more," she said, sounding quite resolute and determined. "If I'm going to have to live in the south, I'd just as well know more about the south. I don't want to know nothing like Jon Snow." 

 At those words, Obara chuckled. "Your Jon Snow is now Jon Stark," she said. "If he wasn't a Crow, he'd be a Prince of Winterfell too." 

 "Jon Snow, a prince?" Ygritte balked. "He never told me that he was one." 

 "He couldn't have known it before he defected back to the Night's Watch," Obara explained. "His Grace legitimized Jon before we came up North." 

 "Oh," Ygritte said. "But he can't have women, can't he? Crows, they can't have children or fucking anything else." 

 "My father's uncle, Prince Lewyn, had a lover when he was a Knight of the Kingsguard," Obara snorted. "They had to swear of women and families too but that didn't stop him at all. Don't worry, there's always a way when you need a good fuck with a loved one." 

 Ygritte then furrowed her brow. Obara had left the dye in her hair to let it settle, for the color to stay before she rinsed it off. "I don't get it," she said. "You southerners make up all these strange little rules and you break half of them. Why make rules in the first place if you're not gonna follow them?"

 If only the world could see the hilarity of situation. A Wildling and a Dornishwoman, talking about the legalities of Westeros. Two women in one of the castles of the Night's Watch, and Ygritte was a Wildling defector because she loved Jon Stark. Obara knew that her father would be very, very amused if she would recount the tale to him. 

 "Some rules were made for the good of all," Obara said. "While others were made because those that made them were fucking soft in the head." She deemed Ygritte to be a very interesting character. She was a hard warrior, courageous and highly skilled, but deep down within that tough exterior, was a woman in love, who wanted to be loved. The more she cursed at Jon, the more that last fact was evident to Obara. 

 It took quite a few rinses, but finally, Ygritte's hair was dyed. Her original coloring was so red that even with the brown-black dye, her hair appeared to be auburn. "There, you're ready," Obara said. "Wear your uniform and meet me outside." 

 Once Ygritte was ready, Obara brought her to see the Blackfish. "Ser Brynden, forgive the interruption, this is Greta Sand," she said, introducing Ygritte to him with the name that she had just come up with. "Her mother was from the Riverlands and I have decided to take her as my assistant because she has shown great valor at Castle Black. I'd like to have some help when Nym is at Winterfell." 

 The Blackfish scanned Ygritte up and down. Of course, it was all an act. He knew that Obara had spirited the girl from Castle Black, but the rest of Northern lords did not. It was a move to cement the illusion that Ygritte actually belonged with the Dornishmen that were part of the Northern Armies to the lords that stood around him, so that they would not be suspicious of her. "Very well, Captain Sand," the Blackfish said. "I will tell the King about it when he's finished talking with Stannis." 

 Obara nodded and nudged Ygritte to bow in thanks before pulling her away. "That, is how you get to come along to see your little Crow tonight," she said quite smugly. 

* * *

 In usual Choosings, no one else but the Night's Watch were present. This time, there were two kings, depending on who you were talking to. Robb Stark and Mance Rayder sat in the back of the hall where the Choosing was being held, Mance under heavy guard to remind him that he was the one who had been conquered and that the verdict on him lied on the decision of the new Lord Commander of the Night's Watch as well. With them was Stannis and Ser Davos Seaworth, who acted as Robb's bodyguards this time around. 

 Robb watched as the Black Brothers gathered into the hall. It was inspiring, really, to watch such a thing. Members of an order, from the lowliest of cooks and builders to the those that led them, every Brother had a vote. Everyone had the possibility to become an actual participant in the elections. Robb knew that his ascendancy from being a Northern lordling to the King in the North was of a similar nature and he realized how... important it was to have one's followers respect one enough to suffer their leadership. It had been a humbling experience for him. He wondered if it would be the same for whomever was elected that night.

 "What was it like when they named you King Beyond the Wall?" Robb asked Mance.

 "I took it like a man," Mance replied. "Got pissed drunk with three women in my bed, if you could call it a bed." 

 Robb chuckled and nodded at Obara the moment she entered with Ygritte behind her. The two of them took their place at either side of him. Mance took notice of the presence of the new girl and immediately recognized her. "Greta Sand, Mance," he said. "Part of Obara's Dornish kin and a fierce girl. I decided that she could be of help to Obara by how she'd fought the other night." 

 Mance sighed. "Your bleedin' heart will be the death of ya, boy," he said. "Your brother's a Crow, do you think that he'll have any use for what you did for him?" He could see that Robb generally cared very much for Jon. It was a rare thing to see among lords and kings, which made him respect the green boy a lot more than other non-Wildlings that he had seen. He was not afraid to show that he was capable of compassion at all, and that took a great amount of courage. 

 "Love will always find a way," Robb said confidently. "Battlefields, Mance, they're the best way to find love. I can assure you." 

 "I wish ya luck, Miss Sand," Mance said to Ygritte. "You're gonna need a lot of it." Ygritte nodded and thanked Mance as quietly as she could. 

 "The Dornish say that we want who we want," Robb said. "Poor Greta's laid her eyes on a Crow too, so I decided to let her come up here to give him one last look before we march back south." He would have spoken further, if not for Ser Alliser Thorne entering the hall to sit at the highest table. 

 "Crowded," Ser Alliser commented. "You'd think we were serving venison stew." The Black Brothers laughed and Ser Alliser tipped his chin towards Robb. "Your Grace, it's nice of you to join us tonight." 

 "Don't very about me, Ser Alliser, I'm here for business," Robb replied, pointing his thumb towards Mance Rayder. 

 Ser Alliser nodded grudgingly. There was an uneasy peace between him and Robb. Ser Alliser knew more than anything that with Robb there, Jon's support would soar. Thankfully for him, the King in the North was respectful of the ways of the Night's Watch and hardly ever interfered thus far. It was one of the few things that Ser Alliser could actually be grateful for.

 "Does anyone wish to speak for candidates before we cast our tokens... for the 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch?" Maester Aemon asked with labored breath. 

 Janos Slynt took the opportunity. Robb had been keeping an eye on him for weeks. He had been the Lord Commander of the City Watch in King's Landing. Certainly, he could have any knowledge about his father's death. "Ser Alliser Thorne is not just a knight, he's a man of true nobility," Slynt proclaimed. "He was Acting Commander when the Wall came under attack and led us to victory against the wildlings." There were choruses of agreement, and Ser Alliser was looking quite pleased with himself. "He's a veteran of 100 battles and he's been a defender of the Watch and the Wall almost all his life. He's the only true choice." 

 Another Brother spoke for Ser Denys Mallister after Slynt. "He joined the Watch as a boy and he served loyally longer than any other Ranger. Through ten winters he served. As Commander of the Shadow Tower, he kept the wildlings away. We could do no better." 

 "If there's no one else, we will begin the voting," MAester Aemon proclaimed. "The triangular tokens count for Ser Alliser Thorne and the square tokens for Ser Denys Mallister." 

 "Maester Aemon..." Samwell Tarly interrupted the maester, but before he could say anything, Janos Slynt got to him first. 

 "Samwell Tarly the Slayer," he spat. "Another wildling lover, just like his friend, Jon Stark. How's your lady love, Slayer?"

 Sam was unperturbed. "Her name is Gilly," he said. "Lord Slynt knows her quite well. They cowered together in the larder during the battle for the Wall." Everyone started to laugh although Slynt tried to dismiss what Sam said. "A wildling girl, a baby and Lord Janos. I found him there after the battle was over in a puddle of his own making." Even Mance Rayder gave a chuckle or two. It was immensely... satisfying, seeing a man like Slynt being publicly humiliated. "Whilst Lord Janos was hiding with the women and children, Jon Stark was leading. Ser Alliser fought bravely, it is true, but when he was wounded, it was Jon who saved us... with the King in the North's help. He took charge of the Wall's defenses, he killed the Magnar of the Thenns, he went north to deal with Mance Rayder, knowing it will almost certainly mean his own death." 

 There was a great silence now. No cheers, no taunting. Everyone just listened. "Before that, he led the mission to avenge Lord Commander Mormont. Mormont himself chose Jon to be his steward. He saw something in Jon and now we've all seen it too. He may be young, but he's the commander we turned to when the night was darkest." 

 Ser Alliser stood up. "I... can't argue with any of that," he said. "But who does Jon Stark want to command? The Night's Watch, the wildlings? Or does he still want to be a Prince of Winterfell with his brother? Everyone knows that he loved a wildling girl, spoke with Mance Rayder many times. What would have happened in that tent between those two old friends if Stannis' army hadn't come along, or even King Robb's? Do you want to choose a man who has fought the wildlings all his life or a man who makes love to them?"

 Ygritte showed signs of aggression, but Mance gave her a low growl and shook his head subtly. If she stirred any ruckus there, it would be over for Jon. 

 No one else spoke after Ser Alliser. When Maester Aemon called for the vote, one by one, the Crows cast their votes. Jon's votes where the circular tokens and they seemed to be just as many as Ser Alliser's. Robb watched with bated breath. Maester Aemon had not cast his vote yet. Feebly he touched the column of tokens nearest to him. Then, he slid a circular token to the one next to it. 

 "Jon!" Robb almost squealed. "Jon, you did it!" 

 "Stark! Stark! Stark!" 

 Everyone was cheering for Jon, and all of a sudden, color was drained from his face. Seconds later, he was as red as a beet and everyone saw it and laughed. 

 "The Starks are doing pretty well themselves, my Lord," Ser Davos commented. "The oldest one's a King and the younger one's the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch... Nothing can stop them now, it seems." 

 "It all depends on how they decide to deal with Mance Rayder," Stannis replied. "If they don't kill him... they'll lose the support that they've gathered." 

 "Will they though?" Ser Davos asked. "Will the two of them actually work _with_ the wildlings?" It was... unsettling, to say the least, to know that Robb was so cordial with Mance Rayder. The man was charismatic and Robb was eager. He was eager to learn, eager to please. One false step would see the North and the Night's Watch making choices that they would all regret and the possibility of it happening seemed all too real now. 

 Stannis shrugged. "Robb Stark let me, of all people live," he said. "His father claimed for my cause, but I didn't move a finger. He should hate me but now I serve under him in exchange for my life and to kill the bloody Lannisters... He's executed his own lords but his people still love him..." 

 "So... the outcome is up to the Gods," Ser Davos sighed. "What a great spot we're in now." 

 "You'd better start praying to the weirwood trees as well," Stannis added. "Assuming that Melissandre hasn't burned them all yet." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey! I'm back! I'm sorry for not posting, I had a little bout of bronchitis so I wasn't able to post. 
> 
> So, we are still up North, what with Jon's election and all that. I'll bet Ygritte is very happy about it. 
> 
> What will Jon and Robb do after that though? HMMMM. 
> 
> Will Stannis ever crack through Robb's head?
> 
> Enjoy!


	57. The Dragon has Three Heads

 Lady was snarling, but Sansa held her leash firmly. Her blue eyes gazed into the dark emptiness of the dragon-pit. She knew that there was no way for her to escape this. She was allowed to keep the dagger that Oberyn had given her, but Daenerys was stepping lightly behind her. Grey Worm, Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan were with her, Daario sent to guard the exit. 

 They came to a stop. "You are the Warg. Let's see if you can see through the eyes of my dragons," Daenerys said. "My dragons are my children, but they are still beasts. It shouldn't be too hard for you." 

 Tyrion Lannister had objected to such a venture. He was brought into the prisons immediately and without question. The two of them had come to Meereen together and the two of them could have conspired. That was the story. That was the story that she wanted the others to know. Sansa, although an honored guest, she threatened to separate the North from the Seven Kingdoms. She knew that Sansa could not be touched, but no one could ever blame her dragons if anything happened to her. 

 "Yes, Your Grace," Sansa murmured. Whatever strength that she had in that audience seemed to have diminished. By the light of her torch, Daenerys could see that she was doing everything but being calm. She was sweating profusely. Her breathing highly irregular. She has yet to see the dragons yet. 

 "If you succeed, then I will consider allowing the independence of the North." 

 Those were the words that propelled Sansa forwards. Step by step, she gripped her knife tightly as she continue to walk towards the end of the dragon pit, where two of Daenerys' dragons were housed. The largest one  was allowed to roam free because it could not be coaxed into the pit. 

 "Do they have names, Your Grace?" Sansa asked Daenerys. 

 "The red one is Viserion and the gold one is Rhaegal." 

 Two blasts of fire brought Sansa's eyes towards the front. The dragons sent blast after blast, but Sansa and Lady stood still. Lady snarled and growled, and in the end, two dragons were close enough that Sansa was nose to nose with the one that was green and gold with yellow wings. 

 For whatever reason, Sansa let go of Lady's leash. She even dropped her knife. She raised her hand. The green and gold dragon looked at her with wide, questioning eyes. Instead of a hiss and a roar, the dragon nudged itself against her hand. 

 Instantly, Sansa felt as if her body was consumed by fire and lightning. When she opened her eyes, she could see a hundred times better, including her own physical body. There was no denying it now. She was in the dragon's mind now. 

 Lady was howling, while the others looked on in utter awe and amazement."Mother..." she spoke the mind of the dragon towards Daenerys. "Mother... I like this girl. She's the one that we saw in our dreams. I told... I told Viserion and Drogon, but they didn't listen!" 

 Daenerys was crying. She was crying so much that the dragon did not understand. The other dragon, the gold and cream one, only stood by, confused. It did not understand what was happening and started to squawk, almost as if it was trying to talk. 

 "Viserion said... Viserion said that he's sorry," she continued. "Mother... where is Drogon? We've haven't seen him and we miss him..." 

 "Drogon..." Daenerys tried to speak, but could not find the strength to. She was sobbing into Ser Jorah's shoulder while trying to reach out to both dragons. "Oh, my children..." 

 "What is that strange little thing, mother?" 

 "What thing?"

 "That furry little thing next to the our girl... it looks awfully soft." 

 "That is a direwolf, Rhaegal," Daenerys said. "Her name is Lady. You must be gentle to her, do you understand?"

 As if on cue, Lady stepped towards Rhaegal and sniffed him. They took time, but before long, Rhaegal and Lady nudged one another. Soon after, Viserion moved towards Lady and stay started playing with one another. It was a sight that no one would ever dare record, or ever dare repeat. A direwolf playing with two dragons... Who would ever believe what was happening? Who would ever dare try to prove such a thing happened?

 All of a sudden, Sansa stopped talking and the dragons were back to hissing and squawking. "Princess Sansa!" Ser Barristan called out as she spat out blood and slumped right onto the floor. Without any hesitation, he ran towards Sansa and picked her up. "I will bring her back to her quarters." 

 Daenerys nodded, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief that Ser Jorah had given to her. "What is she, Jorah?" she asked. "How did she do it?"

Ser Jorah shook his head. "She is powerful, but forcing her to continue like this will kill her," he said. He had never seen such a thing before. Them Northerners, they all had their own tales and legends, but to see the powers of a warg in such a magnitude... 

 "Bring the best physicians to Sansa Stark," Daenerys commanded. "Send word to Robb Stark and Doran Martell. Tell them that I welcome our alliance." 

 "At once, Your Grace," Ser Jorah replied and immediately went on his way. 

 "Wait..." 

 "Your Grace?"

 "Send a message to Oberyn Martell. Tell him to send his wife a live weirwood tree," she said. "Sansa is of the North. It should bring some comfort to her, so far away from home." 

 "I will arrange it at once." 

 "Oh, and release Tyrion Lannister. I will have a word with him." 

* * *

 The moment Tyrion was released from prison, he was given a hot bath and clean clothes. The Unsullied that brought him out did not speak to him at all, not in his hardly-warbled Valyrian, not that they could understand him anyways. 

 "Where is Sansa Stark?" he asked Daenerys the moment he saw her sitting on an ornate chair. "Where did you take her?"

 "Sansa Stark is in her bed," Daenerys replied. "She's had a little fright, but she will be alright." 

 "You do know that if you harm her, you will lose the support of Dorne and the North?" Tyrion asked, eying her sideways. "They won't try to kill you because of your dragons, but good luck trying to get their help." 

 "Sansa is fine!" Daenerys exclaimed, loudly enough to momentarily shock Tyrion. "I'm not stupid enough to kill her, nor do I dare, now that I've seen what she's capable of." 

 "What did she do?" Tyrion asked. 

 "She warged into Rhaegal. If she can do that, what's to say that she's not capable of killing my dragons?"

 It was then when quiet enveloped the room. It was not an awkward one, nor was it one that was forced. There was only understanding. "So, you've learned that you have to choose your friends carefully. That's very good. But don't you think that it is a little dangerous? Killing the beast that you're in... Sansa would not be so stupid, I think." 

 "Do not condescend me," Daenerys said. "Whether Sansa Stark is a two-headed snake or not, I know more than you do." Her tone softened and she cast her eyes down. "She... loves her family so much that she dares to face my dragons at the risk of her own life..." 

 "Without her family, Sansa would have endured a fate far worse than death by your dragons," Tyrion surmised. "She is who she is because of them. You need her by your side. She is a Warg. Even if you can't get hold of one of your dragons, you can manage better with the other two." He of all people knew how Sansa had passed the days between Robb's initial uprising in the Riverlands and her marriage to Oberyn Martell. "No doubt, your own experiences made you what you are today. The two of you can wield a nation between you." 

 It had come to that now. Daenerys on one end and Sansa on the other. The Starks held power in the North and in the Riverlands north of the Trident. From what he knew, the Starks had no heir and Sansa was the only heir that Robb Stark had apart from Arya. Until Doran Martell remarried or his son Trystane married, Sansa was the Princess of Dorne in earnest. 

 "And what about you?" Daenerys asked him. "Why shouldn't I kill you to pay your family back for what it did to mine? Sansa brought you here to this reason, didn't she?"

 Tyrion sighed. "She offered me as a political hostage, yes, but you do know that means that you cannot kill me, right?" he asked her. 

 "I can't openly execute you," Daenerys offered. "It doesn't mean that I'm responsible if you died of natural causes during your stay here." 

 At those words, Tyrion shrugged reluctantly. "You can do so, no one would stop you," he said. "But know one thing. If you want revenge against the Lannisters, killing me wouldn't do anything. You'll only make them happier. So have you decided whether you're going to have me killed?"

 "It's probably my safest option," Daenerys returned. 

 "I can see why you would think so," Tyrion said with a sigh, pouring himself a glass of wine. There was perfectly no reason to waste some good wine, even if it was his turn to wrangle words with the Queen. "It's what my father would have done." 

 "What would your father have done?"

 "My father, who publically accused me of regicide - killing my own nephew? I'd say that his thoughts on having me killed were abundantly clear." 

 "If you were accused of killing the king, how did you come here?"

 "Didn't Sansa tell you? Oberyn Martell volunteered to be my champion during my Trial by Combat. He won and brought out a confession by the Mountain that he ordered Elia Martell, your sister-in-law, raped and her children murdered. My father is essentially why you have no Targaryen backers in court apart from the Dornishmen and the Northmen." 

 "And you work against your father, your own family?"

 Tyrion did not want to answer such a question, not when he knew that his days were short. "Someday, if you decide not to execute me, I'll tell you about why I'm working against my father." He took another good sip of wine. "And on that day, should it ever come, we'll need more wine than this." 

 Daenerys too, got herself a glass of wine. "I know what my father was," she said. "What he did. I know the Mad King earned his name." Ser Barristan had told her all about it. How he had killed the Starks, how he had held Elia Martell hostage so that the Dornishmen would not join Robert's Rebellion. 

 "So, here we sit," Tyrion concluded. "Two terrible children of two terrible fathers." 

 "I'm terrible?" Daenerys asked, slightly offended that Tyrion would even choose a word like that to describe her. 

 "I've heard stories." 

 "Which kind is that?"

 "The kind that prevents your people from being even more so." 

 In the very least, she was placated. "I am expected to reopen the fighting pits," she said. If Tyrion Lannister was someone that he said he was, then perhaps he could actually be of use to her indeed. "If I do so, under my rule, murder will once again become entertainment." 

 "That would be wise," Tyrion said. "Lord Varys said many things to the Martells and I. It's not impossible that he's right about you after all." 

 "For twenty years, the Spider oversaw the campaign to find and kill me," Daenerys said, changing color the moment she heard mention of Varys. 

 "I suspect that he's the main reason you weren't slaughtered in your crib, Tyrion countered. "Think about it, you were moved from place to place just seconds before your assassins got to you. How could your protectors could have done it without him?"

 "You trust him, then?"

 "Yes, oddly. He may be the only person in the world I trust except my brother." 

 "Perhaps I will have you killed after all. I'll have Daario poison you with whatever flowers he has in his disposal." 

 "Your queenly prerogative," Tyrion said. "My final days were interesting..." 

 "I'm not going to kill you," Daenerys said finally. "You're going to advise me." Tyrion raised his glass again but she put it down. "While you can still speak in complete sentences." 

 "Advise you on what?"

 "How to get what I want... the Iron Throne." 

 Tyrion sighed. "Ah, the Iron Throne," he recounted. "As you already know, you cannot do so without the Starks and the Martells. Let's be generous and assume that you have the support of the common people, but what's it like, ruling without the rich? Even if your new friends rally behind you, they all have their own lands in their minds, not yours." Although the North dared to openly insinuate that they were a sovereign nation, Dorne sought to continue their autonomous rule of their own lands. By agreeing to join the alliance, Daenerys would have effectively severed the Seven Kingdoms into three entities. "Are you willing to do so?" 

 "Lannister, Targaryen, Stark, Martell... they're just spokes on a wheel," Daenerys said. "This one's on top then that one's on top. On and on it spins, crushing those on the ground." 

 "It's a beautiful dream, stopping the wheel," Tyrion encouraged. "You're not the first person who's ever dreamt it." 

 "I'm not going to stop the wheel," she replied with gritted teeth. "I am going to break the wheel and Rob Stark and the Martells are going to help me, whether they like it or not." 

* * *

 Sansa was hearing voices. 

 "How long has she been like that?"

 "Two days, Your Grace... She's been shaking and thrashing but the physicians say that she quite healthy, albeit a bit weak." 

 "You've done well. Ser Barristan, have you received any word from Oberyn Martell?"

 "Yes, Your Grace. Prince Oberyn is sending a live weirwood tree here as we speak. Missandei and Jorah scoured the markets for any, but they could only find this ring. It cost more than rubies but..." 

 "It could do for now, perhaps." 

 Sansa felt a ring being slipped onto her finger and her eyes shot open. 

 "Sansa, you're awake!" 

 Daenerys, Daario and Ser Barristan stood around her. "Your... Your Grace," she stuttered with a bow. 

 It was the first time she saw Daenerys smile. "You gave us quite a fright there, Sansa," she said with a smile, wiping Sansa's brow with a handkerchief. "Leave us." Ser Barristan bowed and made to leave. "Daario, you too." 

 "Yes, Your Grace," he said. 

 "I... may have been raised here in Essos, but my guardians told me many tales of Westeros," Daenerys said to Sansa as she looked at the weirwood ring she had just been given. "They said that you Northerners prayed to weirwood trees with faces carved onto them. Everyone says that you are a Greenseer. I did a bit of reading and... Greenseers see through the eyes of weirwood trees, do they not?"

 Sansa blinked at Daenerys and cast her eyes down. "Everyone says I am, Your Grace, but I don't know what I am really," she said. "I just know that I can see things. My brother, my sister, sometimes. But for whatever reason, I see you the most." 

 "We Targaryens... we have dragon-dreams as well, sometimes," Daenerys said. "Others who do not understand say that we are mad but... perhaps that is not the case. I must tell you that when I saw you, looking at your nephew's birth... it wasn't the first time." 

 "It wasn't?"

 "No, the first time was when you and your husband were in Volantis. How I... envied you. I was very much in love with my own husband too." 

 "I knew it!" Sansa exclaimed. "I told Oberyn that it was you! He didn't believe me... he..." 

 "Tell me about your husband, Sansa," Daenerys said. "And I shall tell you about Drogo." 

 Sansa took a deep breath. "Oberyn's... much older than I am. He is a fierce warrior and loves his family. Everyone in Dorne respects him and his brother. He saved me from King Joffrey... he..." There was a pause, as though she was trying to collect her thoughts about Oberyn. "I know he loves me but sometimes... he just pushes me away so much although he says he's protecting me. I'll never understand why he does that. He... seduced me, drugged me and put me on the _Silver Storm_. He... didn't even say goodbye..." 

 Sansa was now sobbing. It was the first time she had vented any form of frustration against her husband. Daenerys couldn't do anything but hold her and comfort her. 

 "I was probably as scared as you were when I married Drogo," Daenerys recounted. "My brother sold me off to him in hopes that he would have control of Drogo's Khalasar." 

 "They make fun about Robb for doing the same with me and Oberyn," Sansa piqued, lightly interrupting the Queen. 

 "Do they?" Daenerys asked with a chuckle. "It took some learning, but... we grew closer. Drogo would never hurt me, he was like a giant, but gentle... He was so happy to know that he was going to be a father too. He said that he would fight so that our son would become the Stallion that Mounts the World. But... I bought my husband's life with my son's... and now I might never be with child again." 

 "Don't say that," Sansa said. "Maybe you're just not ready to be pregnant again." 

 Daenerys shrugged. "It's all up to the Gods now," she continued. "I guess... what they're saying isn't too far from the truth. We're not too different from each other, you and I. Our fathers were betrayed, we were sold to our husbands for military gain..." 

 Sansa chuckled too. "Yes, I guess," she said. "So does that mean that you are going to say 'yes' to Robb?"

 "Yes," Daenerys said. "My brother Rhaegar said that the Dragon must have three heads. Perhaps the other two heads are those of a direwolf and a snake as well?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it, Sansa's ultimate test thus far and she's passed it with flying colors! 
> 
> Looks like Dany and Sansa are going to be real good friends, too! Not to mention Tyrion as well, heh heh. Not that Dany has a choice, actually. The exchange between Tyrion and Dany has been cut short because technically, Jorah hasn't been exposed as a traitor yet, while Dany has only started hearing petitions to reopen the fighting pits. Technically the Sons of the Harpy have not risen yet, but they will shortly. 
> 
> Could a weirwood tree really help Sansa?
> 
> Enjoy!


	58. The Lovers

 Jon, Robb and Mance Rayder looked at one another. Now that Jon was now the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, they had business to attend to. But first, an urgent raven that had come to Castle Black by way of Braavos to White Harbor and then to Winterfell. The message had come from Meereen. 

 "This came from Sansa," Robb said to Jon and turned to Mance Rayder, "Our sister, Sansa, is my ambassador in Essos." 

 "The East?" Mance Rayder raised his eyebrow. "Even we hear stories from those lands and none of them are any good." 

 Robb nodded his head while Jon grimaced. "She sends word that Queen Daenerys Targaryen has agreed to join our alliance with the Martells." 

 "Targaryen, that is the name that I know," Mance added. 

 "The Targaryen queen has three dragons," Robb said, rolling the message up. "Those dragons are our only hope against what you run from... I hope." 

 "You want to bring Targaryen dragons here?" Mance asked him. "Do you think that you can do it, boy?" 

 "There is dragonglass on Dragonstone and my brother-in-law has already started mining them for us. All we need now are the dragons," Robb said. "My sister has already secured this alliance. Sooner or later, the Targaryen queen will come from the east and we will burn King's Landing with her dragons and then, we will all come for the White Walkers." 

 Mance Rayder sighed. "Do you think we have enough time, boy?" he asked. "You are going to be fighting two wars and no one knows when the first one will end, much less the second one!" 

 Robb looked towards Mance. "The first one _will_  end soon," he said, his expression seemingly calm. "But we still have to think on how we have to deal with you, Mance." 

 Mance looked at two of the Stark brothers. "Me?" he asked. "What about me?"

 "You're the King Beyond the Wall," Jon said. "You threatened to kill every last man, woman and child." 

 "That was before you allowed us to go through your Wall!" Mance said. "You brought is through your part of the Wall, Robb Stark..." 

 "Queensguard was loaned to us so that we might protect the Wall alongside the Night's Watch," Robb said. "Formalize your surrender and we will have no reason to do cause you any harm." Robb knew how much the wildlings needed to get behind the Wall, and he knew how much they needed Mance to survive. If Mance died, the wildlings would not stand a chance against any other Westerosi lord, even if they had Jon's support. "Besides, this is only my suggestion. Your real fate rests with the Lord Commander." 

 Jon glared at Robb as his brother gave his shoulder a loud, hard pat. "What?" he asked. 

 "I don't know what you Stark boys are up to, but I don't like it that you're gambling with the lives of my people," Mance growled. "We had a _deal_ , Robb Stark. We stood down and we will continue to stand now. Harm any hair on my people's heads and I will claim this truce between us void. Ya hear me?"

 "Alright," Jon said. "You want to stay behind the Wall?" he asked Mance. "You'll have to earn your own keep. We don't have enough food to feed you, so you'll have to find your own. When Robb moves south, you can have Queensguard. The Gift will be plenty for you to farm and hunt. However, we cannot protect you from any villagers that  might be hostile to you, and you would have to share whatever food you've produced with Castle Black. A quarter of it will do." 

 Mance shifted uneasily while Robb looked directly at him. He was deliberating. One taste of battle against the Westerosi was enough for him. His people were untrained and undisciplined. They did not know how to react against their ranks and hence, their vast numbers did not matter. "As long as we are behind the Wall, we will all have a chance to survive," Mance said. "I... I can't refuse your offer." 

 "You're a good man, Mance," Robb said. "You've made the right decision for your people." There was no real reason to fight against the wildlings. Now that Westeros was saddled with war, they needed more men and not lesser. If Mance could bring in all his followers to the Gift, it meant that the Gift would be more populated. More people to work its lands and more food could be produced. It also meant that Queensguard and the rest of the abandoned castles would be garrisoned. It was an opportunity that no one else but Mance Rayder could take up. 

 "Your people will not be harmed, I promise," Jon repeated. 

 "Oh, you'd better be right, King Crow," Mance said. "But I wonder, what you'll say to your fellow Crows. How are ya gonna convince them about us?"

 "Leave that to me," Robb said. "I already have an idea." 

* * *

 Deep down insde, Jon had a sinking feeling that his decision to let Mance Rayder live and the wildlings to enter Queensguard after Robb returned south was a bad decision. He had just only won the Choosing by a slim majority and this move would make him even more unpopular with those who were already siding with Ser Alliser. 

 Yet, he knew that there was no way that they could survive a fight against the White Walkers alone. He had trusted his instincts and did what he saw fit. He knew that there was no other way. There was nothing else that he could do but to have this truce with the wildlings, no matter how uneasy it would be. 

 "Lord Commander," Obara's Dornish accent came in front of his door. This door used to be Mormont's door, and now it was his. 

 "What is it, Obara?" he asked from the other side of the door. 

 But when he opened the door, he did not see Obara at all, but a Dornishwoman in Robb's army. She looked incredibly like Ygritte though. "You look pretty good for a Lord Commander, Jon Stark..." 

 That was no Dornishwoman. That was Ygritte. 

 "What... what happened to your hair?" 

 "I'm not a wildling girl, you know," she said, trying her best to imitate Obara's accent. "I'm Greta Sand. His Grace wants me to train to be a lieutenant like Obara's sister." 

 "Greta Sand..." Jon smiled wickedly. "What are you here for?"

 "I am here to give the Lord Commander some Dornish wine," she said, bringing a flagon of wine into Jon's view. "Obara said it's a gift from her father and uncle to congratulate you on your new appointment." 

 "The Dornish princes are too kind," Jon said, taking the flagon from her. "Please, help me to thank them, Miss Sand." 

 "Why is Obara a Sand, but people call her 'Lady', but if I'm a Sand, but I'm not one?"

 Jon chuckled. "That's because the Dornish love her and she's Prince Oberyn's daughter. If you're a Sand, you're just a bastard of a Dornish noble." 

 Without wasting any time, Jon set the flagon onto his table and pulled Ygritte into his arms. She almost squealed, but he took his hand and covered her mouth although he himself chuckled. 

 "Shhh!" he hushed her. "If anyone hears you, we're both dead!" 

 Although Mance Rayder was willing to let her live, no one else would let her live. If she was discovered to be in Castle Black, let alone in his chamber, the both of them would be executed for treason. 

 "So what are ya gonna do, Lord Commander?" Ygritte asked him as quietly as possible. 

 "We'll just have to be very quiet." 

 Luckily for them, Obara was training her men outside. It was as if she was purposely creating the opportunity for them.  

* * *

  "Your Grace, the envoy from Dragonstone is here," Missandei told Daenerys. Behind her was a man who wore rough armor and looked as though he was battle-hardened. "Here is Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, Captain of the Dornish Army."  

 Ser Bronn walked towards Daenerys and bowed low. With him was a cart pushed by three people on each handle. "Here is the weirwood tree that you asked for, Your Grace." 

 Daenerys stood up and took a look at the tree, but found it to be exceptionally small. "This... weirwood tree... isn't it a little too... small?"

 "Oh, Your Grace, this little weirwood here was taken from the wilds beyond the Wall," Bronn explained. "The King in the North himself chose it from the woods nearby Queensguard. The... wildlings said that if a weirwood was to be transported long distances, it should be a younger one. This tree looks small, but it's at least thousands of years old." 

 "Good," Daenerys said. "Missandei, have it planted in Princess Sansa's courtyard. Also, give Ser Bronn a room and hot food. Will you be staying here for long, Ser Bronn?"

 "I'll be off in three days," Ser Bronn said with a smirk. "Oh and I think you should hold off planting the tree for a little longer."

 "So you are not the only one here that will be giving out more reports," Daenerys asked. 

 "Your Grace, I didn't exactly come alone." 

* * *

 The first thing that she saw was Lady wagging her tail happily. The next thing she realized was a familiar warmth around her. The scent of sandalwood mixed with orange oils. 

 "Oberyn?" she asked. She did not dare turn around, but she did really see a mass of golden yellow around her. Did Daario Naharis have such audacity to even impersonate Oberyn?

 "Who else might I be?" 

 The first thing that she did when she turned around and found that it _was_  Oberyn was to slap him. He did not shirk from the blow. He took it willingly, along with the rest of the blows that followed. 

 "How _dare_  you!" 

 "Sansa..." 

 "You put me on... that ship... You..." 

 "Sansa..." 

 "I knew that Robb sold me to you for your men, but I want you to know that I am _your wife_! I might have wanted to help Doran and Robb, but that doesn't mean that you can just _leave me on that ship!"_

 Sansa was streaming tears by the time she stopped hitting him and cried into his shoulders. "Shh... my love," he cooed. "I am here. Forgive me. I had to do it. If I actually sent you off, I feared... that I would want to come with you, or I would not let you go." 

 "You... scheming bastard!" Sansa scolded between sobs. "You don't know what I went through. You've seen much in the world, but you've never had two bloody dragons breathing fire directly at you!" 

 Oberyn chuckled and wiped her tears away, peppering her face with wild kisses. "Look at you, Lady Ambassador. You are cursing! What would your Lady Mother say when she hears you?"

 At those words, Sansa stopped and continued to sob. "I missed you so much," she said. 

 "And I you," he soothed. "Oh, Sansa. I missed you too. You should have seen us taking Dragonstone. It was surprisingly easy, seeing that Stannis left his own lands." 

 "What is Dragonstone like?" Sansa asked, allowing Oberyn to nuzzle at her neck and collarbones. 

 "It is a cold and dreary place," Oberyn said. "There are dragons all over. Dragons carved from obsidian, wood and stone. On that island is a volcano and at its base, the were large amounts of obsidian. We mined many of them for Robb. He said that they were needed on the Wall... Did you like the bangle I gave you?"

 Sansa nodded, and showed said bangle to him. "I thought... I thought that I'd never be able to see you again," she said. Oberyn kissed her over and over, silencing any inauspicious thoughts in her head. Then, out of a sudden, she rose from his arms and asked him with a raised eyebrow, "Aren't you supposed to be fighting a war? Why are you here?"

 "I did not run from my responsibilities, if that's what you're implying," he answered, looking into Sansa's eyes. "I heard that you warged into one of the Targaryen dragons. Sansa, you know that you cannot use too much of your power... Do you know that you almost lost your life?"

 Sansa smiled weakly when he took his hand in hers. "It's alright," she told him. "If... my life is all that is needed for Her Grace to join our alliance, my life is what I'll give." 

 "Sansa, you are worth so much more than that," Oberyn interjected with a click of a tongue. "Do not think that this is the only venture that you will complete, my love. You are young and you have still much to do." 

 "What do you mean?" she asked Oberyn. 

 "My love, Doran and Robb has allowed you to stay in Meereen with the Dragon Queen if you so wish," he answered. "I... would think that it would be a better course of action. Westeros will soon become a dangerous place and I might not be able to protect you at all times." There in Meereen, Sansa was untouchable. She was the Lady Ambassador of Westeros under the protection of Daenerys and her government. Other than that, she was relatively unknown and thus, no one could ever fathom of her worth. 

 Sansa nodded her head and kissed his forehead. "Thank them for me, won't you?" she said. "How... how is Robb? How's everyone?"

 "Your family is doing rather well, it seems," he added. "Robb flattened Stannis Baratheon's army and he let Stannis live and take a new name, Prior. Stannis is now a Northern lord and your brother's advisor. Your sister Arya is the Lady Protector of the North at fourteen.. Oh, and your brother Jon was elected the 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch." 

 Sansa smiled at all the news. "Thank you," she said. With her head leaned against his shoulder, she asked, "What about Tyene and Sarella?" 

 "They are learning well. Tyene needs a little more patience and Sarella is too bookish for fieldwork, but they are turning into a good team," Oberyn said. "They are also asking about you every day. They want to know if dragons are as vicious as the legends say they are." 

 At those words, Sansa gave a small chuckle. "Ask Lady. She's taken to playing with them in their pits for quite some time," she said. "They're more like giant cats than thunderous monsters." 

 "Lady!" Oberyn clicked his tongue and Lady walked up to him, wagging her tail. "Dragons are scaled cats and direwolves act like puppies... What world do we live in now?" He stroked Lady's back and played with her awhile. "My love, do you like it here?"

 Sansa joined him at the edge of the bed and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "I love it here," she returned simply. "The weather here is slightly cooler than Dorne, and..." 

 "You can't have had a good relationship with the Queen," he added. "If she really valued you, she wouldn't have had gambled with your life with her dragons. What did you do? Did you sleep with her favorite?"

 "She... she practically _pushed_  him to me!" Sansa blushed quickly. "He told me that she wanted him to test me, whatever that means." 

 Oberyn laughed out loud. "So, dear Daario Naharis has the two most beautiful and powerful women in his grasp?" he asked his wife jokingly, tipping her so that she was once again in his arms. "Did you enjoy him? Is he not your first man apart from me?"

 "Oberyn!" Sansa swatted his shoulder sharply. "I... Daario is kind and gentle. He looks like a scoundrel, but he's a heart of gold. He isn't very much interested in me though. He still wants the Queen." 

 "Sansa, you've been at odds with Cersei for years, don't you know that when you are up against a woman, _never_  do what she explicitly asks you to do?" Oberyn said. "No wonder the Queen's tried to feed you to her dragons." 

 "I don't even _need_  Daario in that way," Sansa said. "In fact, I was only reminded more of you and Ellaria when we... when we..." 

 She was silenced by Oberyn's lips upon hers again. "Sansa, when I told you that you are not bound by anything to explore the world, I meant it in every sense of the word," he told her when the kisses ended. 

 "What if I _don't_  want to?" Sansa shot back. "What if I... what if I only wanted the two of you? I mean... you don't have to stop having other people, but... _I_  only want you and Ellaria." 

 Her eyes were as large as saucers when she said those words. Her jaw set and her brows furrowed. Oberyn knew that Sansa was serious and he did not try to deflect her statement. He kissed the crown of her head, and then her forehead, eyelids, nose and chin while he slipped his tunic off. "What did we do to deserve you?" he asked her lovingly. 

 "You didn't deserve me," Sansa teased back. "You bought me with your army." 

 "When will I ever hear the end of that?" Oberyn asked, laughing as Sansa did. He took Sansa's sleeping gown with ease and kissed the center of her chest. He could have sworn that her breasts had grown fuller since he last saw her. It reminded him of how young she actually was, how much more beautiful she would grow. Ellaria had bet that she would be tall and billowy, but now he knew she would have a generous bosom as well. "I know that you wouldn't believe me about this but... you, my love, there is no other woman _like_  you." 

 In the year previous, Sansa would have blushed furiously and hide her head below the covers. However, she was no longer the singing dove trapped in a gilded cage. She knew who she was and she was no longer afraid to show who she was. "There _is_  no other woman like me," she told her husband matter-of-factly, reversing their positions so she hovered above him. "Thankfully for you, Robb didn't know how much I am worth before he agreed to our marriage." 

 There was mirth when they made love. It was different from all the times when they had become one. They were as passionate with one another, but she had now the confidence to hold her own against him. All Oberyn did was look at her in awe and act according to her lead. Sansa did not want to know why they had become like that, but she could never look back as long as Oberyn enjoyed her being like this. She knew that he would never want her to dwell in the past, and she would treasure every moment shead with him, however fleeting they were.

 "I love you," Sansa panted when they came undone. Once again, her husband peppered her entirety with innumerable kisses in response, worshiping her in as many ways he could fathom. She feared that they would have to have another go again if he did not stop at all. 

 "And I you," Oberyn returned, bringing his arms around her as she cuddled against him. "Sleep, Sansa. It's my head that will be rolling on the floor if anyone knows that you've not rested much." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, everyone misses Oberyn, so here he is! Yes, he's playing hooky when he should be on Dragonstone tsk tsk tsk. 
> 
> Oh and yay for Ygritte and Jon! Looks like Obara has more tricks up her sleeve than we know. 
> 
> I'm sorry for not posting the past week. Work and life was... hectic to say the least.


	59. The Joining

It was not difficult to understand what kind of a person Sansa was currently when one has made the acquaintance of her husband, Prince Oberyn Martell. He was everything that Sansa was not. Suave, eloquent and almost a little bit threatening, but very, very much in love with his young wife. Sansa looked almost like a porcelain doll when she stood beside him, all eyes and fair skin.

He was formally presented to Daenerys as "Prince Oberyn Martell, commander of the Dornish armies". He had entered with a banner. It was similar to the one that Daenerys had shown Sansa, but his version had the Martell's sun and spear in another third of the banner. All that was left was Daenerys' Targaryen sigil. Like Sansa's first formal audience with the Queen, they were joined by the rest of the Queen's council, which now included Tyrion Lannister, who was her unofficial Hand.

"Prince Oberyn, what brings you here to Meereen?" Daenerys asked him, obviously trying to size him up. Ser Barristan had told her that Sansa was not the person she had been when he was still serving in King's Landing. It had been her marriage to the Red Viper that brought her so much confidence and boldness. It was Oberyn that built her up and if the love of such a husband could cause such a great change, he would certainly by a formidable man, just like Drogo was.

"In all honesty, Your Grace, it is my dear wife," Oberyn said, raising Sansa's hand to kiss it. "When you sent for the weirwood tree, I knew that something must have been terribly wrong with her. "As you might have already known, Your Grace, Sansa is  a Greenseer and a Warg, and we have good reason to suspect that the further she is from her Old Gods, the greater the strain of her... abilities." He had come up with such a theory at the realization of Sansa's weakened state only started when they had returned to Dorne, where weirwood trees could not grow due to its sandy and hot environment.

Daenerys nodded. "The princess is well-treated here, do not worry," she said. "Has news of my intentions reached the North?"

"King Robb is overjoyed, Your Grace," Oberyn replied. "I expect that you would hear from him soon. Currently, he is at the Wall, consolidating his affairs with the new Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Jon Stark, and the King Beyond the Wall."

"King Beyond the Wall?" Daenerys asked. "What claim does he stake?" She could not believe it. Already the war was known as the War of Five Kings without her intervention. Yet, Stannis Baratheon had killed his own brother while Robb Stark had broken Balon Greyjoy and Stannis himself. All that was left was a puppet-king in King's Landing and the Young Wolf. She was curious as to what intentions this new king had.

Oberyn chuckled. "He is merely the leader of all the wildlings, Your Grace," he said. "As for his intentions, he merely wants to hide his people behind the Wall. Mance Rayder and his wildlings have discovered that White Walkers have returned to the world, and they would find safety before winter comes."

"White walkers?" Daenerys asked. "Either Robb Stark wants to bolster his army with wildlings or do you think that I am a fool?"

 "Your Grace, you are the Mother of Dragons," Oberyn soothed, a most Dornish maneuver. No one could ever resist Oberyn's voice when he was in a mood to convince others. "We lived in an age where dragons did not exist. You know what my wife is, her Direwolf is playmate to your children. Is it so hard to actually think that now, everything is possible?"

 "Assuming that I believe you, you not only want me invade Westeros for you but also destroy the White Walkers?" Daenerys raised her eyebrows. "Then what work will you doing?"

 "Your Grace, we are fighting your wars so you can have your grand entrance," Oberyn said. "Imagine how the people will love you when you fly in with your three dragons, liberating them not only from tyrants like the Lannisters, but also nightmares like the White Walkers." 

 "I see your little game, you and Robb Stark's," Daenerys said, her anger clearly growing. "You all knew from the start. First, you bring Sansa here to me, thinking that I would shelter her. Our fathers were killed, we were displaced, sold by our brothers for men to fight. Then, you would use her to control me and my dragons. What if I refuse? What if I wish to stay here in Meereen? What can you do then?"

 Oberyn took in a deep breath. What Daenerys was doing was a very womanly thing to do. She was offering him an ultimatum, not to force him into a corner, but to see what he was going to do. If she would block one way of his path, she would see which way he would take. He was a master of women, he would of course know what to do with her. 

 "Then we shall fight our war and we shall divide everything between Dorne and the North and die maintaining the peace if we have to," Oberyn said. "Two families cannot swallow all of Westeros whole between us and not crumble into pieces. Only dragons can control them now. As I said, Your Grace. We do all the work and you take all the rewards." 

 Daenerys still did not believe Oberyn. "You, Prince Oberyn, you're a gambler, aren't you?" she asked him. "You have gambled on Robb Stark's abilities to take back the North and now you're gambling on my willingness to join the alliance." 

 "The whole premise of this alliance is a gamble, Your Grace," Oberyn replied. "Robb Stark gambled with the North, and Stannis lost his bet on the wildlings. Everything is a gamble." His smirk was gone. There was a great determination in his eyes, for he knew that their entire existence depended on her word. Daenerys needed supporters. The only advantage she had were her three dragons, and she clearly knew that she needed much more than that to actually take all of Westeros. She needed the North and Dorne to rule while they needed her to conquer. 

 "Your Grace, none of us has any choice left," Sansa added, joining her voice into the fray. 

 “My father was the King of the Seven Kingdoms,” Daenerys reminded them firmly. 

 “Your father _was_  the King of the Seven Kingdoms, but he could not hold them due to his cruelty,” Sansa reminded Daenerys, knowing how the Silver Queen had set her jaw, amethyst eyes locked directly towards her. “My father was the Warden of the North, but he risked it all because of his stubbornness to uphold this stupid notion known as ‘honor’”

“What my lovely wife is saying, Your Grace, is that we cannot stubbornly hold to the notions of old,” Oberyn added to Sansa’s statement. “You are here to create a new world. We are here to tear down the old one. We can work together."

Daenerys knew that she cannot argue with such logic. She had long known that there was no such thing as the perfect bargain. She was seeking to take back a homeland that she had never seen before, a homeland that she did not know. She did not know that part of the world. She was raised in the Free Cities, married to a once-powerful Khal. She brought freedom to slaves, but she had never once saw the Seven Kingdoms for herself. They were hers to take, and they would remain only that. 

She looked towards Jorah, Missandei, Daario, Ser Barristan and Tyrion Lannister. She looked towards Sansa and her shining husband. Grey Worm stood at the base of the steps that led towards her throne, tightening his grip on his spear, ready to act if she should ever give him orders for it. 

"My father was the King of the Seven Kingdoms, but he was known as the Mad King for ruling it with impunity," Daenerys sighed. She stood and gestured towards the standard that Oberyn had held in his hand. "But I am Daenerys Stormborn." She turned towards Sansa and added. "The Lannisters killed our fathers, and they shall be punished. My father killed your grandfather and uncle, and I shall allow the North to secede from the Seven Kingdoms if it promises peace with my rule, as compensation. I will back the North's independence as it is the North's right." Then to Oberyn, she said, "Dorne has never been conquered by my family, or by anyone else. If Dorne supports my forces and that of the North's, then I see no reason why it should not stand as it stands now. I shall take your occupation of Dragonstone as your gift to me, Prince Oberyn." 

Both Oberyn and Sansa bowed their heads. "The Seven Kingdoms thank you for your wisdom, Queen Daenerys," Oberyn said. "May your rule be long when all of this is over." 

"There will no longer be Seven Kingdoms, Prince Oberyn," Daenerys announced. "But there will only be Westeros. We are all Westerosi: First Men, Andal and Rhoynar alike, even a Valyrian like me." 

* * *

When the King in the North was at Castle Black with his bannermen, he had left his son and mother back in Winterfell. His sister was the Lady Protector of the North, the only one in the history of Westeros. 

As Lady Protector, her first act was to install Catelyn as her own majordomo. Catelyn would be the face of Winterfell, as she had always been. Her second, was to decide what she was going to do with the Stannis' wife and daughter, as well as the Red Priestess that were sent there by Stannis Prior himself, escorted there by Ser Davos. 

While Lady Selyse and Shireen were content to seek refuge in Winterfell, the Red Priestess seemed so accepting of her new circumstances that Ser Davos was rather frightened by it. She was quiet and reserved, and was quite unlike the heretic-burning, shadow-demon birthing person she was not too long ago. Since Arya didn't know what to do with her, she had the strange foreigner kept in a lavish room under light guard.

"Her name's Melisandre, and she's capable of many things," Ser Davos warned Arya and Catelyn. "But... I've never seen her in such low spirits before." 

"I know who she is," Catelyn said. "She's the one that killed Renly Baratheon, according to Brienne's accusations. I saw her before next to Stannis, claiming him to be the Prince that was Promised." 

"Well, we all know now that it's not true, so what are we going to do with her?" Arya asked. 

"You can let her go," Ser Davos said. "You can kill her, given her tendency of introducing fanatical religions, as if we don't already have enough of those here." 

"Or... we can let her choose," Arya said, much to Catelyn's disbelief. 

"Princess, are you sure about this?" Ser Davos asked Arya, who cringed slightly at being addressed as a princess when she had not gotten used to the title yet. 

"I've seen her before," Arya admitted. "We met her with the Brotherhood without Banners. She took Gendry to see Lord Stannis."

Gendry... that name was familiar to Ser Davos. "You mean Robert Baratheon's bastard?" he asked Arya. "You were there?"

"Yes, we were making our way back up North..." 

"And?"

"She said that we'd meet again." 

Catelyn sighed. "Is that all, Arya?"

Arya nodded. "I think I should talk to her." 

"I'll come with you," Catelyn volunteered but her daughter shook her head. "Arya!" 

"This is something that I have to do myself, Mother." 

* * *

_"I see a darkness in you, and in that darkness, eyes staring back at me - brown eyes, blue eyes, gren eyes... Eyes you'll shut forever. We will meet again."_

Arya recalled those words well when she confronted Melisandre for the first time. Together with Nymeria, she walked towards the room where the Red Priestess was kept and she sighed. She had been nothing but a little girl on the run the first time she met Melisandre. Now, she was a Princess. She found her family again but Melisandre was proven wrong. 

"Can I come in?" Arya asked after knocking on the door three times. 

"Please, Princess," came Melisandre's answer. "I should like the company." Nymeria was growling at her, but stopped the moment Melisandre locked eyes with the direwolf. Somehow, Arya sensed that Nymeria was not afraid of her, but decided that she was not a threat. 

"Nymeria, sit," Arya told her direwolf. "Guard the entrance." 

Even as a captive, Melisandre's presence was severe. Looking at her was an event. She skin was fair, her facial structure, chiseled and her gaze cold, despite her being a supplicant of the fiery Lord of Light. The red gown that she wore was not suited for the cold North, but she seemed to be unaffected. 

"How are you here in Winterfell, my lady?" Arya asked. 

"I am doing well," Melisandre replied. "Have you come to a decision about me?"

Arya shook her head. "We don't know what to do with you." 

"Are you not worried that I might burn your weirwood trees to honor the Lord of Light?"

"You're not stupid," Arya replied. "If you even walk into the Godswood, our men will have you torn apart from trying." 

"You knew fear, Arya Stark, but you will know it greater still," Melisandre said. "Look around you. You are home, but do you feel that you are home? You have so much more to accomplish, so much more to see. You have tried to escape the life of being a courtly lady, and yet here you are, the Lady Protector of the North, bound to Winterfell." 

"Robb's at the Wall sorting things out with Jon. I'm the only Stark left, since Eddie's only a baby. I can't leave even if I wanted to. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell." She had once run from being who she was, and look where it got her. She had sworn to herself that she would fulfill everything that was needed of her by her family. 

"Indeed," Melisandre said. "Perhaps you should keep a weather eye. Everything is never as they seem. I once thought that I had the voice of the Lord of Light, but now, I realize that I was wrong." 

Arya raised an eyebrow. "Did you really think that Stannis was the Prince that was Promised?" she asked Melisandre. It was curiosity. She remembered how Melisandre had been when she first met her. The Melisandre that was before her was now... slightly different. She was now subdued. 

"What I thought did not matter. I was wrong," Melisandre answered. 

"What will you do now?"

"I do not know," Melisandre said. "However, if it pleases you, I believe that I am... needed here in the North. I wish to stay here." 

"You can if you follow our laws. You'll be our guest here." 

"Oh, I will behave, dear Princess," Melisandre said. "I thank you for your hospitality. Would your mother like your counsel, though?"

Arya shook her head. "Mother won't like it at all," she said. Catelyn had hoped that Melisandre would be kept under guard for as long as she lived, given her notoriety, but she did not agree with her mother's stance. Her mother has not seen what she has seen before, and she had learned to trust her gut more than anything. Now, her gut was telling her that while Melisandre was dangerous, she was not their enemy. "But she doesn't have a choice." 

"Very well, Princess," Melisandre said. "Then if it pleases you, I would like to take a walk in the keep. You can have your direwolf to follow me, if you want." 

Arya nodded and set Nymeria to the task. She stood at the hallway while she watched Melisandre and Nymeria take a left turn to the hall that would lead them outside into the courtyard. 

"I think what you did was very wise," came a voice from behind Arya, startling her so much that she instinctively unsheathed Needle. Luckily, it was only Shireen Prior, Stannis' daughter. 

"My mother will have my head when she finds out," Arya grimaced. 

"My mother loves Lady Melisandre very much," Shireen mused. "She thinks that the Lord of Light would save us all. But I didn't like her very much... she seemed... different." 

Arya sighed. "We can't go everywhere punishing people who are different than us," she told Shireen. "That's not how the world works." 

"But that's how _she_  worked," Shireen said. "She burned my uncle and many of those who opposed her in Dragonstone, under my father's orders. That's why I was surprised that you let her go."

"What would you have done if you were me?" Arya asked her. The two of them were similar in age, but yet, they had met such different circumstances. 

Shireen shrugged. "I don't know, actually," she answered truthfully. "She might be many things, but Lady Melisandre's never lied to anyone. Maybe you can't trust her, but I think you can trust that she knows that she's doing." 

"How are you taking to Winterfell, Lady Shireen?" Arya asked. She had little chance to talk to Shireen and her mother, Lady Selyse, ever since they came to Winterfell from Stannis' camps. Robb had given her explicit orders to make their stay there as comfortable as she could manage. 

"Mother and I are doing fine," Shireen said. "I like it here, although it's much colder than it was back home. Mother likes to mope in our room though, but I think that I should like to see your library if you would allow it, Princess Arya. I want to look for something that Ser Davos can read. I'm teaching him, you know?"

Arya could not help but to chuckle at her statement. "It's yours," she said. "No one ever reads here anymore though." 

"Thank you, Princess Arya." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO THERE! After a year of absence, I am back! I've got to say, the first few episodes of Season 6 was a little bleh, so I didn't have much hope in the form of inspiration, but when Episode 5 kicked in I was fully refreshed! I thank you all for waiting for my return so patiently! 
> 
> I hope that you liked this chapter! It is a long time coming, and I do believe that it will be the one that set a new beginning for the fic itself.


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